What Happens In Yardale
by Hot Monkey Brain
Summary: High school is all about heated rivalries and stupid mistakes, but it's not the end of the world. Only in this case, it might be. Gregory finds himself standing alone against the Anti-Christ and neither of them can see this ending well. Slash.
1. Bad Dream Come True

**Author Note: **This story actually came about when I was writing a one-shot for my Crack Bunnies series. It grew into this beast, which is going to run to about sixteen chapters – so much for the one shot. Like a lot of my stories, it was written in a circle and later chapters were done before earlier ones. I've been working on this for a while, but it's not entirely written on my computer (just three-quarters written, lol). And I'm terrified of the reaction I might get to it. I've been living with the plot for so long that I'm really nervous. Reactions of any kind are welcome however, if you enjoy then hit the review button and let me know, or if you spot any horrific errors I've made then tell me and I'll correct them.

**Warnings: **Lots of these and they cover every chapter, although this prologue is the tamest. This story has slash. Vast amounts of slash. It also contains a sorta-kinda romantic triangle and one side is a pairing I have never, ever seen in the fandom. Probably for good reason. There is blood, gore, crudeness, death, religious stuff (and the characters various opinions are not necessarily those of the author). Should any of these things squick you or offend you, click back now. Also, I know nothing at all of private schools, everything described about Yardale comes directly from my own imagination, save the name.

Which leads me to remind you all that I don't own the characters, Yardale, South Park, any of the stuff I nicked from The Omen films or a working television set, so please, no lawyers. Enjoy!

**~:~**

_Toll due, bad dream come true._

**~:~**

Yardale had been built some hundred and fifty years previously, intended as a place where the rich could sent their sons for their entire educational career to have them properly schooled (and safely out of the way of their parents), leading them onto high-flying, highly paid, prolific careers in political or financial fields. The already wealthy boys would become even richer as men, marrying well and sending their own offspring to the establishment to continue the cycle. As the years passed, the building was added to, usually in the form of bequests from former students, the architecture in keeping with the existing structure and never looking anything less than pristine. The grounds were huge, a large wooded area out of bounds to the pupils to one side, fields separating the building from the local village two miles away. The village had prospered along with the school and in recent years had become a small town, catering mostly to the rich, bored young men with money to burn who found it their only choice of venue away from Yardale's grounds.

The Spring break was over and done with and Yardale had once more opened its doors to its pupils. There were unlikely to be many students looking forward to the term, reflected Gregory Thorne, but he doubted that any of them were secretly dreading it as much as he was.

He should be happy, or nostalgic perhaps. It was the final term of his final year at the prestigious private academy and he had enjoyed his time there well enough, he supposed, as much as one _could_ enjoy school. His academic career was relatively chequered – the school accommodated for children throughout their schooling years and he had attended the place from aged four to eight, when he had transferred very briefly to public school, then to a similarly prestigious military academy half-way across the country, his fathers career making it a more convenient locale. Then back to Yardale again at fifteen, after another of his fathers promotions.

He fit in well enough among the other students, who all came from wealthy families and had the same casual confidence and unconscious arrogance that Gregory himself had, the result of being brought up in a certain way. However, he had something that they lacked, an awareness of their ease of living compared to others, anger at that injustice that none of his contemporaries seemed to share – if anything, they saw it as the natural order of the world, themselves deservedly pampered and privileged, everyone else there to be pitied, scorned or employed as cheap, disposable nobodies. That kind of thinking pissed Gregory off no end, his political idealism baulking at his own upper-class roots.

And his involvement in the American-Canadian war years earlier had showed him that just a few people could change the world for the better, given the right time, right circumstances, plenty of determination and a willingness to make sacrifices.

School had always been easy enough for him, a perfectionist streak meaning his work was always up to standard and he ensured his knowledge was up to at least the expected level, preferably higher. And he was naturally highly intelligent anyway, just another thing he took for granted, like his aristocratic good looks, or the athletic physique that came from seven years of military school and his continued (sometimes over the top) training. It wasn't his workload that was causing his minor depression at returning to Yardale, not his social life and _certainly_ not the thought of having to finally leave the establishment for good and live in the real world – that he could be anything but a success never even crossed his mind.

It was his soon-to-be room mate.

Damien Thorn had arrived at the school suddenly, after the academic year had begun. His late arrival had meant him being stuck at the end of the schools usually strict adherence to alphabetical order, resulting in him sharing a dorm with the Yates kid, who had immediately become nothing more than a lackey to the other boy. But that would be different this term he had been informed, all it took was a quick look at the re-issued register for Gregory to realise his final term was about to become a miserable experience indeed. Damien's surname was Thorn, Gregory's was Thorne and unless someone had dropped out or they had a new addition, that unfortunate coincidence was going to throw them together until they left. Or killed each other, which wasn't unlikely. The rigid rules about alphabetical order meant in all their lessons they would be seated together, working together – and because the senior students had two people to a room rather than sleeping in a four-bed dorm like the younger boys did, they'd be forced to be in the same room. Which meant no respite from the other, even once lessons were done for the day.

_The Thorn kids_, the other students called them during their previously rare interactions. As in, _the Thorn kids are kicking shit out of each other again,_ or_ The Thorn kids are going to kill one another some day._ Gregory and Damien were similar in some respects – both self-confident, arrogant, assured, both among the more intelligent of their classmates, both unafraid of each other. In other ways, they were polar opposites, most obviously in their looks; Damien was an inch or so taller and cultivated a slightly messy emo-rebel appearance, while Gregory preferred to appear immaculate, no easy task sometimes when his blonde curls wanted to run riot. Damien's thoughts on society at large, including the school, was unashamedly elitist; himself at the top and everyone else cattle, good only for what they could give him and then easily and guiltlessly discarded. He cared for no one else, something he made no secret of and yet, he had some kind of weird charisma that made his classmates go along with him, knowing they would end up taking the blame for any wrongdoings while Damien escaped trouble-free, not even learning their lesson after that. Gregory despised their weakness for allowing it, and Damien for exploiting it.

Every one of the conversations that he and Damien had got into previously had deteriorated into an argument within moments. Gregory not only refused to be exploited, he would try to point out Damien's ploys to the oblivious victim. The ensuing row would usually be icily sarcastic on Gregory's side, slyly mean on Damien's. Damien got under Gregory's skin, infuriating him in a way he had never known anyone else able to do before and their classmates were secretly betting on when the situation would escalate. They'd been in minor scuffles before, but they had been broken up before getting out of hand – Gregory had never been in so much trouble in his academic life as he had since Damien had arrived.

Gregory had reflected several times over the break that with them being forced into close proximity over the coming term, the chance of a serious fight rose exponentially. And despite his excellent physical condition, Gregory wasn't completely sure of his chances of coming out on top. He had enjoyed excelling in sports until Damien arrived, when suddenly it was no longer as effortless to win. Damien was strong, Damien had stamina and Damien was happy to cheat. Although Gregory knew he was good and he wasn't above fighting dirty and he certainly wasn't afraid of throwing down with Damien or anyone else, he knew the outcome would not be a foregone conclusion.

As Gregory carried his cases to his new dorm room, he was _really_ hoping that just one name had changed on the register. Just _one_ name and he would be sharing with Ethan again.

No such luck.

Damien was already lying on the bed Gregory would have chosen had he arrived first, next to the window, lounging carelessly against the plain white sheets, staring at the ceiling. As soon as Gregory walked through the door, Damien leaned up on his elbows and smirked, insolently handsome in his uniform of grey trousers, white shirt and red tie. Damien's tie was pulled loose with the knot hanging low, as opposed to Gregory's perfectly positioned Windsor knot.

"Hey there, roomie," Damien smirked, sensing Gregory's dislike of the situation.

"Damien," responded Gregory formally, dropping his case on the other bed and opening it, making a start on putting his things away. He had brought nothing personal with him at all in anticipation of his prayers not being answered, he didn't doubt that Damien would poke through his possessions at the earliest opportunity, probably not even bothering to be sneaky about it. Gregory found such invasions of privacy infuriating and disturbing, he had plenty to hide and although he rarely showed any signs of temper, loathing the loss of self-control, it was just another thing about Damien that got under his skin.

"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine," mocked Damien, rolling his eyes. "Hope you're not gonna be in this mood all term."

"Not as long as you don't bother talking to me," replied Gregory calmly, transferring his clothes from the case to his drawers.

"You wanna draw a line down the centre of the room too?"

"I would, if I thought it would make a difference."

Damien snorted. "You're so fucking uptight. Good thing I only have to put up with your shit another two months."

Gregory stole a quick glance at Damien, wondering if he had miscalculated – the term was a couple of weeks over three months – but he didn't pursue the issue, he had no desire to be drawn into casual conversations with the other boy and after a moment, Damien lay back down and resumed staring at the ceiling, an uncharacteristically unhappy look flitting briefly across his face before being replaced by bored indifference.

Gregory arched an eyebrow as he returned to packing, suddenly slightly cheered. It could easily prove to be another of Damien's stupid mind games, but if not, it sounded almost as if he would be leaving before the end of the term. Maybe there was some parental transfer in the works – Gregory had no idea what Damien's parents did for a living but he was no stranger to being shifted from one part of the country to another – or maybe he was really lucky and Damien was about to be disowned or similar. Whatever it was, anything that forced Damien out of school and out of his way could only be a good thing.

His mood slightly lifted and with Damien sullenly quiet, Gregory allowed his mind to wander while he put his things away. The two week break over spring had been a good one, only slightly marred by the knowledge he was coming back to this. His parents had suggested he return home to them for the period, Gregory had sidestepped the issue neatly by informing them one of the other boys had asked him to take a brief holiday with them. It wasn't entirely an untruth... just mostly a lie.

Rather than a tedious visit home, Gregory had spent the two weeks with his unacknowledged best friend Christophe. Most other teenagers would spend the time playing video games or hanging out, however, neither Gregory nor Christophe were like most teenagers and Gregory had actually accompanied Christophe during his work.

Most teenagers worked in fast food places or shops. Christophe tended to sneak into places he shouldn't be in – _countries_ he shouldn't be in – blow things up, steal, kill, maim, carry out daring rescues or ruthless plots. And most of the time, it paid very well.

It wasn't the first time the two had worked together, although Christophe frequently bitched about Gregory being 'part time', it was just his way of teasing. It was one of the more satisfying jobs though, having been hired by a man desperately worried for his daughter, who had answered an ad for an au pair in Europe and vanished. They had tracked her down in ten days, leaving behind a trail of human traffickers who weren't about to be in that business again, or any other for that matter. The girl had never laid eyes on the people who got her out of the situation and her father had not been in a position to pay their typically outrageous fees, nor was it the kind of thing they usually did. It made Gregory believe he had been right about one thing; Christophe wasn't the hardened bastard he liked to make out he was. He still had a soft spot for the downtrodden and the exploited.

Gregory realised suddenly that he was being watched and glanced over to Damien, who sure enough was regarding him with an amused look.

"What's her name?"

Gregory scowled, realising that something in his face must have given away his thoughts. And as usual, Damien had gone right to the heart of the matter, finding the most sensitive topic, the big secret, and pushing the wrong buttons. The best way to deal with the question was to be dismissive and slightly sarcastic.

"Go fuck yourself."

Damn. What the hell happened to his usual composure whenever Damien was around? He had a smart-arse comment for every occasion, unless it was Damien trying to get a rise out of him. No matter how often Gregory told himself he wasn't going to give the other boy the satisfaction, he could never find a comeback and he always ended up losing his temper.

"Never needed to," replied Damien with a smirk. "Although I'm sure you'd enjoy watching me."

Gregory slammed the drawer shut, reflecting that he hadn't even been in the room half an hour and he was already contemplating beating Damien to death with something heavy. He knew plenty of ways to kill a person with less mess and effort, but that wasn't enough, he wanted Damien pained and bleeding. He amused himself with the image for a few moments. Right then he made himself a promise; if he and Damien ever did get into an apocalyptic fist-fight, there was no _way_ he was going to let Damien beat him. It didn't matter if Damien was strong, Gregory doubted that he was much of a fighter.

"Temper temper," murmured Damien quietly. Gregory shot a quick glare at the other boy, catching his eyes and deciding, not for the first time, that Damien wore contacts as some kind of vanity thing, no one as pale as that could have eyes that dark, seemingly totally black.

There was a quick knock on the still-open door and a man entered. Damien looked over at him disinterestedly and Gregory gave him a tight smile. "Hello Mr Neff."

"Gregory." The teacher looked over at Damien with an odd, inscrutable look. "Damien. Just checking to see that you're both alright and to let you know, I'll be the teacher overseeing your dorm this term."

"Yes _sir_," said Damien with an insolent smile. Mr Neff gave him another strange look and although Gregory kept his face impassive, he was suddenly intrigued. There was definitely something he was missing here, although he had no idea what it could be. Mr Neff was famous for being a take-no-shit type, apparently that wasn't the case when it came to Damien.

"What happened to Mr Thompson?" he enquired casually.

Mr Neff looked back at him. "There'll be an announcement later, but – he had an accident over the break and he's still in the hospital. I doubt he'll be returning this term."

"An accident?" Gregory was curious. "What kind of accident?"

"Skiing." Mr Neff's eyes skittered over to Damien and then back to Gregory. "Fortunately, I was able to move on campus for the duration of his, ah, convalescence."

He made as if to leave, then seemed to remember something and turned back. "By the way, I'm aware that you two have a history of agitating each other. I was against the change in rooms for that very reason, but our principal is keen on sticking to his plans." He smiled coldly, looking directly at Gregory. "_I'm_ keen on peace and quiet. I expect both of you to get along and..." He looked over at Damien again. "Keep a low profile. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah," said Damien, no longer smiling. "Crystal clear. _Sir_."

Neff looked back at Gregory, who nodded.

"Good." Neff took his leave and the two boys relaxed a little. Gregory returned to unpacking his things in silence, while Damien rolled over on the bed to watch him. "You heard the man Greg," he said with heavy sarcasm. "I'm sure we'll be the best of friends."

Gregory sighed, looking at the ceiling. The heavy weight of the gold crucifix beneath his shirt shifted with the movement, bringing to mind Christophe's frequent, vulgarly eloquent rants. Perhaps he had been right all along.

"God really does hate me," he muttered.

Damien laughed. Gregory looked back at him, startled, as his low chuckles gave way to a good-humoured belly laugh, as if he had heard the funniest joke of all time – and yet, there was an undertone of bitterness to the sound.

"You and me both, Greg," he said, rolling onto his back and resuming looking at the ceiling, his laughter tapering off. "You and me both."


	2. Confrontational

**Author Note: **A massive shout of thanks to the lovely reviewers, Doomed-Orange-Parka, super manako sohma, Reneko-Chan, Bethany C MacKenzie and tazrr! You guys are awesome – you can probably imagine how completely terrified I was at posting something about the Antichrist and the other Brit, heh heh. Christophe will have a small role in this story, but it _is_ a small role, for the most part he'll be on the other end of the phone or in Gregory's thoughts. So no threesomes, sadly. Well... not in here, at least. Going off on a tangent, I originally saw the story as having Christophe go undercover at Yardale, hired to off the Antichrist, and finding out Damien and Gregory were having a torrid affair. But I also thought there weren't enough stories where Gregory didn't have Christophe around, so I changed it.

This chapter's shorter than most of those that will follow, but it's kinda necessary too. Hope you all enjoy it and leave a review to let me know what you thought! Join the Dreg revolution, heh heh. And I foresee these two having a lot more interaction (not necessarily the romantic kind though) in future stories, I simply love writing them together.

**~:~**

_I feel irrational, so confrontational..._

**~:~**

Gregory realised just how bad his final term was going to be the very next day, when he arrived in his first class. In public school, pupils of seventeen and eighteen were able to pick where they wanted to sit. At Yardale, they seemed to delight in upholding rigid discipline. Which would be less of a problem for Gregory, who could (on the surface at least) respect authority, had it not put him in direct, constant contact with Damien.

"It's driving me insane," Gregory confided in Ethan, whom he had shared a room with before Damien had come crashing into his life and messed it up. They'd always gotten on well enough, Ethan wasn't bright enough to pry much into his life and was congenial and friendly. They were sitting outside for lunch, Ethan pulling apart an unappetising looking sandwich, Gregory tapping a box of cigarettes against his knee. He had found them in his suitcase, presumably getting there by accident – they were Christophe's brand and it wouldn't be the first time the Frenchman had misplaced a packet. Gregory was an occasional smoker, who rarely bothered with the habit, but after a day of being forced to hang around with Damien and no respite in sight, he was feeling driven to it.

"Damien's..." Ethan thought it over and went for diplomatic. "He's probably difficult to live with."

"He's a _twat_." Gregory gave in to temptation, removed a cigarette from the pack and realised he had nothing to light it with. "Bollocks. You got a light?"

"Don't smoke." Ethan glanced at the cigarette. "Didn't know you did either."

"I don't." Gregory twirled the cancer stick in his fingers. "It's either this or get drunk. I've got the whole afternoon to go yet and after all that, I can't even get away from him for the evening. I go back to my room and he's still _there_. And this is only the start." He glared into the mid-distance. "July can't come soon enough."

Ethan laughed, but there was a sympathetic tone to it. "You'll get used to it," he said, removing the lettuce from his sandwich and dropping it onto the wrapper. "Once you both find some kind of middle ground, things'll settle down."

Gregory snorted. "I don't think Damien's interested in compromise. He just _loves_ winding me up. He started the moment he woke up and he's not let up. I don't think I can deal with this for the next three months."

"That's probably what he's hoping for," noted Ethan. "Don't rise to it. He'll get bored after a few days. He doesn't strike me as having much of an attention span, but if you encourage him, he'll never leave you in peace."

"I know." Gregory sighed. "I'm trying to ignore him but – I don't know, he just knows exactly how to get a reaction. He has an innate talent for finding people's weak spots."

"Wasn't aware you had any weak spots," said Ethan with a grin. "But yeah, I know what you mean. He does it to everyone. It's those nasty comments that leave you with no comeback..."

Gregory gave a slight shake of his head as he noticed the school doors opening and a group of boys exit. "Change of subject," he said in a low voice. "King Shit and the little turds are heading our way."

Ethan gave a small snort of laughter, but immediately went onto anther topic. "So, how did you spend the spring break? Visit the parents?"

"Friends," said Gregory evasively, seemingly paying attention to Ethan, but actually watching the group of boys from the corner of his eye. Damien was in the centre, thumbs hooked into his pockets, looking aside disinterestedly as one of the other four boys with him told some story or anecdote. Since the start of the term, Damien seemed to have been in a far worse mood than he had been before the break and Gregory wondered if it was the change in room mate that had caused it, or perhaps he just noticed it more because he had to spend more time with him. "Europe."

"Yeah?" Ethan took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. Gregory noticed Damien turn his head and spot them, so immediately stopped his sneaky surveillance. "Do anything interesting?"

_Infiltrated a criminal underworld, played with guns, made some nasty threats, saved the maiden fair and realised that the uncomfortable crush on my best friend isn't going away..._

"Not really," said Gregory, rather than give voice to the truth. "Just hung around..."

"Hey there."

Gregory glanced up, noticing that Damien had paused as he and his group were passing by. He shot the black-haired boy a cold look. "Hello."

Damien glanced at the unlit cigarette in Gregory's hand. "Didn't know you smoked."

"You don't know much," retorted Gregory. Ethan rolled his eyes, clearly indicating it wasn't doing much for the 'ignoring Damien' strategy.

Smirking, Damien took his hand from his pocket and offered it in Gregory's direction, a flame coming from his cupped palm. Gregory glared, but his urge to smoke the damn thing had become a low-grade craving and putting the cigarette between his lips, he leaned over and used the flame to light the end. Once done, he leaned back and the flame vanished, Damien stuffing his hand back into his pocket.

"Smoking on school property." His smile became sarcastic. "Aren't you the rebel."

"I'm over eighteen," replied Gregory defensively, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Damien's smile dropped for no good reason that Gregory could see. "You'll have to tell me what that's like sometime."

He walked off without another word, the other three boys trailing behind him, giving Gregory scornful looks over their shoulders. Gregory ignored them, not caring even slightly about their opinions. There had been something odd about the entire encounter and not just the way Damien had responded to Gregory's comment. He continued his conversation with Ethan, but his mind kept returning to the meeting, worrying at it, trying to work out what had been off.

It wasn't until half-way through the last lesson of the day, while he was trying to remember the chemical name for sulphur, that Gregory suddenly realised what had grabbed his attention. Damien had lit his cigarette from him, but he'd never known Damien to smoke either. And although he had used the flame, he couldn't recall seeing the lighter at all.

~:~

It was fortunate for Gregory that he managed to get a respite from Damien occasionally, their forced proximity aggravated him enough without anything more. But although they had to sit together during most of their lessons, they didn't share _every_ lesson and there was always the break between the end of lessons and their curfew. Damien was nearly always gone from the room during that time and when he wasn't, Gregory always had the option to go elsewhere, usually hanging around with Ethan, or more often, sports practice or to study in the library. He still had to graduate high school and although it was in his nature to want to excel and he had been offered places in further education which his parents were understandably anxious for him to take, he was almost certain he wasn't about to continue his education. He had other plans.

Damien's circle of friends were an entirely different crew than Gregory spent any time with. Sam was a sallow faced, quietly arrogant boy and Daniel, his room mate, was a dark-haired, loud-mouthed bully. Cain, the third member of their little gang, was an overweight blonde who tried to make up for his physical shortcomings with flashy displays of his wealth. They'd all been in Yardale since before Gregory had arrived for his second stint there and had always been a group, but when Damien arrived he had fallen neatly into their crowd and in spite of his newbie status, they all seemed to defer to him.

Yates had never been a part of the group before Damien's arrival and it seemed that he had been allowed membership through virtue of him being Damien's room mate. Gregory had expected, not that he really noticed or cared about such things, that once Damien and Yates stopped sharing a room, he would be unceremoniously dumped. This hadn't proved to be the case; Yates was still hanging around with them – but the way he was treated was different to the way the other four acted toward each other and it wasn't in a subtle way either. They mocked him with casual contempt and undisguised scorn, teasing him cruelly. Yates took the abuse with desperate good humour, anything to be accepted. He followed his so-called friends around like a puppy seeking approval and yet, he hadn't been anything like so passive before Damien's arrival. He and Gregory had never been good friends, but he'd always found Yates to be relatively pleasant, easy going but not a pushover. But all that had changed.

If it wasn't for their ability to spend some time apart, then Gregory and Damien would have killed each other within the first week. As it was, there were a lot of nasty remarks between them and several times the remarks escalated into full scale rows. But most of the time there were people around them to break things up before it went too far; when they were alone in their room, they spent most of the time in icy silence. Should the mutual quiet be broken by snippy comments, one or the other of them would walk away. Usually it was Gregory, reminding himself that he didn't need to get a lot of adverse attention, that Damien was just looking to provoke a reaction from him, that he was going to be the bigger person. But he hated feeling that he was letting Damien feel as if he'd won.

But strangely, in Gregory's opinion at least, he wasn't always the one to back down. The first time he decided enough was enough, it was four weeks into the term and Damien had been aggravating the hell out of him all day. He'd been particularly obnoxious, needling him, pushing him and it wasn't as if Gregory was having an especially good day anyway. Christophe had texted him to say he'd be out of touch for several days, which meant he was on a mission – not that Gregory was _worried_ as such, but he was mildly concerned. His work load had been dramatically high that week and as well as having the rugby coach suddenly go ballistic over practice ahead of a big game that weekend. Damien had been the last thing he needed and for whatever reason, the brunette had broken his silence that evening and made a number of subtle, sly digs that were clearly designed to send Gregory out of the room once again.

They didn't. He was suddenly sick of always being the one to be mature here. If Damien wanted a fight, he had one.

"Damien," he snapped, narrowing his eyes. "If you want to prove something, then come and have a go."

There was a pause, Damien clearly not expecting the response. He stared over at Gregory, but the blonde didn't lower his eyes and after a moment, Damien stood. "I wouldn't lower myself," he growled, somewhat inadequately – it was more the kind of response that Gregory more frequently gave – and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Gregory had risen an eyebrow, deciding that perhaps Damien wasn't as hard as he thought he was without an audience and his friends to back him up.

Since then, Gregory would periodically inform Damien that he'd gone too far and offer that they got into a fight, to which Damien would back away – if they were alone. As soon as an audience was involved, Damien refused to back down and Gregory was a lot less likely to take his insults, leading several times to them being pulled apart and separated before the first punch could be thrown.

But for the most part, Damien was a minor annoyance to Gregory, something to mar his final days at the school and with the finishing post well in his sight, he was certain he could stick it out. That he could complete school without succumbing to Damien's taunts and have the entire ordeal behind him, something he wasn't sure he'd be able to manage if they'd have had to spend much longer together.

But as April turned to May, the chance that they would leave school without _some_ kind of confrontation grew slimmer. Damien's moods blackened as the term went on, to the extent that even his friends seemed to be cautious around him. And Gregory grew increasingly tired of dealing with his moods, knowing as he did that Damien was merely some spoiled arrogant bully who needed to be taught a lesson, certainly no one to be afraid of. Every word out of Damien's mouth increased Gregory's temptation to just punch him in it.

~:~

Yardale took the achievements of the students seriously. It was expected that all the students would emerge with a finer education than they would receive elsewhere, academically or otherwise – it was the only way to keep being able to demand the outrageous tuition fees. But of course, academics were only a part of what parents could expect when sending their overprivileged offspring to board there. There were any number of extra-curricular activities designed to make the students become well-rounded young men; debate, chess, music, drama. And of course, the sports.

Sports were a large part of the Yardale tradition and there was a select array of activities on offer, some which were available at public school, many which were not. Gregory was on the rugby team and the track team, both of which he was good at but neither of which he had a passion for. Sports had never been something he cared a great deal for, thinking of them as a means to an end rather than an end in themselves. But he'd always enjoyed fencing, which was something Yardale offered as part of the usual curriculum – and unfortunately for him, something that had recently been marred by his brand-new, alphabetically determined partner.

Damien could fence, and surprisingly well, when he could be bothered to. Mostly he just screwed around and pissed Gregory off, just another thing that might have been fun had Damien not been involved. But on a few occasions, he'd dropped the games and showed a proficiency which took Gregory by surprise, Damien was fit and perceptive, good at anticipating attacks before they were made.

Gregory had been resigned to this being another lesson in which Damien screwed around. He'd been argumentative in their previous lessons, putting Gregory firmly on edge and anxious to get away for a while, grab an illicit cigarette – he didn't know whether he had Christophe to blame for the sudden uptake of the habit, because he'd left the packet in Gregory's suitcase, or if it was Damien's fault for being such an aggravating bastard. Whoever was to blame, Gregory could have done with the nicotine right then.

Instead, the moment they had picked up their foils, Damien gave a smirk that was superficially taunting, but there was a genuine challenge in his eyes. "On guard!"

Gregory rolled his eyes at the idiocy of the comment – it was so unnecessary and bloody stupid – and was about to remind Damien that they were supposed to use the face guards lest Mr Morgan, their teacher, have a shit-fit. But Damien launched an attack before he could, Gregory instinctively raising his own foil to parry the attack. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly fuming. He wasn't in the mood for this kind of bullshit and clearly, Damien was perfectly aware of that.

Scowling, Gregory used his own weapon to push Damien's away, silently inviting Damien to continue, if he felt up to the challenge. Damien's smirk widened and he made another attack that Gregory successfully blocked, both of them ignoring Morgan's irritated shout and the low murmurs from the other students, who appreciated a little excitement in their lessons and had drawn back to watch things unfold.

Damien raised an eyebrow and made a third lunge at Gregory, who blocked the move again with practised ease, a smirk of his own appearing. Damien might be good, but _he _was better. He forced Damien's sword back, noticing how Damien's expression suddenly became a lot less contemptuous. He wasn't playing around anymore. That was fine, Gregory never had been.

The foils parted as Damien was forced to take a step back, Gregory immediately going on the defensive rather than hurrying into a counter-attack. Damien took several steps to the right, attacking Gregory from the side, a move the blonde foresaw and blocked, still not going on the offence.

Damien brought his sword down, Gregory catching it with his own. For a moment, they glared at each other, then with a complicated wrist motion, Gregory sent the foil spinning from his grip, touching the tip of his own to Damien's chest. By the rules of the match, he had won. There was a rise in the noise level, a few scattered cheers from some of the observers.

Gregory tossed the foil aside, looked up into Damien's face and realised the attack was coming a second before Damien lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. He might have been surprised at the sudden escalation if there had been time, Damien usually went for taunts and teasing before he resorted to violence. But there wasn't time, Damien moved and the fight was on.

There was a yell of approval from the other students as Damien clenched a fist and brought it down, Gregory catching it before it could make contact and shoving Damien backward. They wrestled briefly, Gregory forcing Damien slowly further back in spite of the other boy leaning his entire weight on the blonde, staring each other in the eyes.

And then the teacher made his presence known, wading through the gathered boys and grabbing Damien by his collar, yanking him away. For a moment it seemed like Damien would ignore him, then the brunette allowed himself to be dragged backward.

"Break it up!" roared Mr Morgan, a little redundantly since the pair were no longer fighting. Gregory sat up, disheveled but unharmed, while Damien focused his attention on glaring at the teacher with a murderous expression.

"The pair of you, Principals office, now." The teacher turned to the rest of the class. "Okay, show's over, get back to it!"

Gregory got to his feet, shooting an evil look at Damien – all the trouble he had been in over the final part of his school career had been because of the other boy. Damien paid no attention to him. He was watching Mr Morgan through narrowed eyes.

Mr Morgan turned back to them briefly. "Didn't you hear? I said move!"

Gregory headed for the door, assuming an air of being above the whole thing, while Damien followed him a moment later. Gregory looked at Damien out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he could expect any more comments and bitching on the walk to the Principals office and if his own raised temper would allow him to let them pass without a retort, or them getting into another scuffle.

Damien took another look over his shoulder as they approached the door, then his gaze went upward. With a frown, Gregory tried to see what he was looking at. There was nothing to see there, merely the standard strip light fittings that went with the sports hall roof.

There was a sudden screeching wail of tortured metal as the light fitting ripped from its moorings.

Gregory spun around, the warning dying on his lips – it was too late already, even before he opened his mouth. The light fell, turning at an angle as it did and smashing directly into Mr Morgan's balding head. There was a surprising amount of blood as it caved his skull, burying into the bone and sticking there. The force drove the teacher to his knees, but he was dead before he fell face-first to the floor.

There were cries and screams of horror from the students and one boy bolted to the side of the room to puke. Another fell over himself, apparently dizzy. The only two students who had very little reaction at all were Gregory and Damien.

Gregory had been trained to act rather than react and his first response was to assess the situation. The teacher was dead. The scene was contained. There were certain protocols that had to be gone through. And he should confirm the kill, the habit deeply ingrained, although one look told the entire story.

Beside him, Damien's lips twitched into something that was not quite a smile. "He shouldn't have touched me," he said under his breath, so quietly that Gregory barely heard it. He turned to look at the other boy, wondering if he'd imagined the words. But the gleam in Damien's eyes and the mild satisfaction on his face persuaded him otherwise.

"You sick fuck," he said flatly, heading into the middle of the fray to try to get some semblance of order.

Damien watched him from the door, his face expressionless. Gregory's demeanour changed the moment he had the slightest attention from the other students, going from calm and stoic to slightly shocked and almost shaky. Gregory's voice, as he barked an order to one of the other kids to go get some help, was an octave higher than normal and rather than get everyone out, he merely cleared a circle around the stricken man. It all seemed like the normal thing someone would do under the circumstances, trying to keep calm without the slightest experience or clue of how to achieve that, until someone with more authority than he could take over. But Damien was sure that it was nothing but an act. His behaviour was a little too calculated, a little too careful, something that would go entirely unnoticed in the shock that the rest of the watchers had. But Damien was far from shocked by events and he could see the act for just that.

Which begged the question how Gregory could remain so calm and calculated in the face of such a shocking incident. He was eighteen years old and apparently a lifelong veteran of boarding schools and sheltered upbringing. The closest he'd ever been to a body should have been on the television – and yet, his actions were cool and practised in spite of that fake layer of shock.

But then, Damien had been beginning to suspect there was more to Gregory Thorne than met the eye.

The kid Gregory had ordered to get help bolted past Damien and fled through the doors and Damien elected to leave after him, knowing he could claim shock should he be questioned about his actions. He'd seen all he needed to, more than he'd expected in fact. It was high time he found out a few things about his room mate.


	3. Nerves Wound Up Tight

**Author Notes: **My huge thanks go out to super manako sohma, Bethany C MacKenzie and tazrr for the encouraging and always appreciated reviews, and also to all those who favourited and alerted! I'm aware this chapter took much longer than it should have and I apologise – I thought I'd have more time to write, being off over Christmas, not less! The slash isn't coming until later in the story I'm afraid, but it's getting much more into that whole 'hormonal boys in an enclosed environment' thing from the next chapter, lol. Having things happen any faster would mean the whole thing feeling rushed and I didn't want to do that. I just hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! Drop a review and let me know what you thought.

**~::~**

_Sometimes I don't feel right, nerves wound up too damn tight..._

**~::~**

The gym rapidly became the centre of attention, the first teacher who arrived on the scene actually screaming girlishly while grabbing his phone, needing three tries before managing to call the emergency services. A second teacher came in while the call was being placed, saw the body and went green. Gregory started to feel as if he were in a farce.

"Sir?" he said to the second teacher, glancing around and seeing that Damien was nowhere in sight. Just as well. Gregory was aware that his own attitude was detached and clinical, but the way Damien had taken pleasure in the accident – that was just cold. Gregory felt a fresh surge of hatred for the other boy and forced his mind back onto the subject at hand; the last thing he should be doing was thinking of Damien. "We've all just witnessed a terrible accident. Perhaps it would be an idea to remove the class from the scene?"

The teacher nodded distractedly, if Gregory guessed right, he wouldn't even recall later that it hadn't been his idea in the first place. Raising his voice, the teacher spoke shakily. "Boys, I want you all to go to, uh, to the cafeteria. Wait there, don't go anywhere else, there'll be someone there to um, check on you. Yes. Well, don't just stand there, move!"

Gregory rolled his eyes, but obediently headed for the dining hall. The man's voice had become more certain with every word, the simple act of being able to do something cutting through his shock. At least he was acting now and not looking like he was about to throw up.

The group didn't change from their gym clothes, merely went to the dining hall and waited until a teacher showed up, making low, stilted conversation among themselves. Even that eventually dried up. There was no other topic that could realistically be discussed, but there was only so many times a person could relive the salient facts. Gregory didn't even bother to do that, just leant his elbow on the table, chin in hand, thinking things through.

That had been extremely odd. It didn't seem possible for a sturdy fitting like the ones in the gym to completely tear from its screws like that, even if one side had gone, the other should have kept it attached to the ceiling even if only for a short time. He liked to think he was pretty observant of his surroundings, but there had simply been no warning, not so much as a sound.

Or maybe there had been _some_thing, some noise he'd missed while lost in his annoyed thoughts just before it had happened. Because Damien had been looking up there, hadn't he? That Gregory had seen the fitting fall was because he had been trying to see what the bastard was watching. Perhaps there had been some noise and Damien had heard it – which led Gregory to consider the distasteful possibility that Damien had seen what had been about to happen and elected not to issue a warning. That he'd kept quiet in the hopes of Mr Morgan being injured, to gain some petty revenge at the imagined slight in the moments before.

Gregory gave a mildly frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair and thinking ruefully that he must be unusually dishevelled right then, after the fight and all. Maybe he _was_ a little upset by events, because now he was finding excuses to assign Damien with psychopathic tendencies. Damien was a cruel, callous wanker with entitlement issues but he wasn't the badass he pretended to be either. _If_ Damien had heard something from the fitting before it fell, it probably hadn't registered with him that there was something wrong. Ordinary people didn't think something was a danger until the problem was obvious and that was all Damien was; ordinary. Although it would kill the boy to actually admit it.

After a short time, the head teacher entered and told them what they had already seen for themselves; Mr Morgan was dead alright. The boys who had seen the incident were to be free of lessons for the rest of the day and the following day, also, the school was finding them counselling. Gregory almost laughed at that, he should have expected it really. The school board would be terrified of being sued should one of the students have 'emotional issues' resulting from witnessing the accident or not being cosseted enough afterwards and they would already be looking at a huge lawsuit from the Morgan family. Yardale would respond by suing whoever installed the lights, who would sue the manufacturers and it would all take ten years to decide who was to blame. There was no such thing as an accident anymore.

Perhaps it _was _a string of unfortunate coincidences, the screw might have given and the others were too weak alone to hold the weight of the fitting. Pure human fuckery at work, coincidence putting Mr Morgan beneath it. Gregory might not like coincidence, but they did happen sometimes. And far more likely than any other explanation.

The head did a quick check on who was missing from the class who had seen the incident; three boys, the one who had initially reported it and was back in his room, the one who had fled to puke, and Damien. No one mentioned the fight and for that small mercy, Gregory was grateful. When the group were finally allowed to return to their rooms, Gregory took off with purposeful strides, wanting to get changed but having no intention of talking to Damien about events after the boy had left. He planned to entirely ignore him. He was used to people being dispassionate about death, but Damien's comment about the teacher deserving it had been cold and Gregory had been offended by it.

But Damien wasn't in their room when he returned, nor did Gregory see him again until a few minutes before their established curfew. That added a bright spot to an otherwise shitty day, although not so much as the call he got shortly after the evening meal. When his phone rang, he expected it to be one of the other students inviting him somewhere or asking something homework-related, as was usually the case, but the caller ID clearly said _CdeL_. Christophe. Gregory raised an eyebrow before answering, Christophe always texted first to advise he was calling or to ask Gregory to call him, to ensure they wouldn't be overheard by another student.

"Hello," he said, trying to keep the curiosity and cheer out of his voice and still not using names because he never did in his room, even if he was alone. "Is everything alright?"

"Zat's what I called to ask," replied Christophe in his smoke-roughened voice, accent still thick even after years of living in America. Gregory blamed it on him being home-schooled, unsociable and stuck living with his equally heavily-accented mother throughout his formative years. Not that he found the voice objectionable... rather the opposite in fact. "Zere was something on ze internet about an accident at your fucking fancy-ass school. Thought I 'ad better make sure you 'ad not broken your wrist learning some secret club 'andshake."

This time, both of Gregory's eyebrows went up. Christophe had Yardale on his internet news alert? He hadn't even considered the man would use such an application, let alone have it set for Gregory's whereabouts. And in spite of the condescending words, he could detect genuine relief in Christophe's voice that he could only surmise came from hearing him answer the phone.

"Why, you sound almost concerned," he said, leaning back against his pillow and sending a silent prayer of thanks that Damien wasn't there. It wasn't often he got a snatched phone call with Christophe during term time, even less often one as informal and honestly surprising as this one. He decided to leave out that he'd been present for the incident, it wouldn't achieve anything and was stupidly over-dramatic. "It wasn't me. A piece of the roof fell on the fencing teachers head, killed him."

"A piece of ze _roof_?" Christophe's voice was disbelieving, but Gregory knew the other well enough to hear the suggestion of a smile in it. "Are you sure 'e didn't give you a bad mark and you killed 'im for it?"

"Trust me," replied Gregory with a smile of his own, the events of the day and all the aggravations that had plagued him lately fading at the prospect of having the chance for actual conversation with the mercenary. "His death was nothing at all to do with _me_."

~:~

Mr Neff's office was painted white, but the walls barely showed due to the neatly ordered mahogany bookcases against two walls, the large window on the third and the door on the fourth. There was a painting on either side of the door, both done in dark colours and a desk in the centre of the room, also mahogany. The carpet was a dark green. Everything about the room was masculine and muted, slightly intimidating, particularly if one were a student summoned to the office.

Damien may have been a student, but he wasn't intimidated by much, let alone some room, and he certainly hadn't been summoned. Rather, he had invited himself.

"Is there something I can help you with Damien?" asked Neff from his position behind the desk.

"Yeah." Damien didn't take a seat, preferring to stand and look around, disguising his true intent with nonchalance. "I wanna see Greg's records."

"There's a strict code about showing the students records to anyone who's not authorised to have access," said Neff absently, looking up.

"I know." Damien caught Neff's gaze and held it. "Show me anyway."

Wordlessly, Neff opened his laptop and performed a few actions, pushing the machine across the desk toward Damien. Damien took it and sat in the chair opposite, scrolling through the information rapidly. None of it seemed especially relevant, save for a surprisingly long disciplinary record – Gregory, it seemed, was unafraid of speaking his mind and had ruffled quite a few feathers in the past, not to mention all the trouble he had gotten into with Damien's help. There was the usual background information, parents names and contact details, siblings (none), blood type, allergies and medical history. Damien lingered over the medical history, noting with a raised eyebrow that there were no mentions of what might have caused the scar on his chest, or the one on his bicep, or the one on his thigh. He could have put one omission down to an oversight, but all three? And it wasn't as if they were deemed unimportant either, there was _everything _in the report, right down to routine childhood illnesses like chicken pox. The oversight seemed strange and Damien was certain it was deliberate or, more likely, that the details weren't there because they had been dealt with by someone who didn't go in for keeping records.

He scrolled through schooling history rapidly, but two words seemed to jump out at him as he did so and he paused for a second before scrolling up again. precededFor Gregory, Yardale had been preceded by a military academy and that had been preceded by a very brief stint at a public school. Gregory had been eight; the school had been South Park Elementary.

Frowning, Damien worked out the dates. He too had attended that school in that year... but no, they hadn't been there at the same time, he had gone earlier in the year and had left before Gregory had begun. Still, he didn't like it one bit. South Park had a reputation for attracting certain types of people and certain types of events, the right person at the right time. That Gregory had been there so briefly suggested to him that it had happened again – and another simple calculation told him it had been during the American-Canadian war, arriving immediately before the conflict and leaving immediately afterwards. The right person at the right time; Damien would just _bet_ the pretentious bastard had something to do with the entire affair.

Troubled, he checked the rest of the records and found nothing else of use. He was uneasy and he hated that, it seemed that maybe Gregory's presence at Yardale was less of a nuisance and more of a threat. A threat he was sure he could take care of, but a threat nonetheless.

~:~

Gregory and Damien managed to avoid exchanging a single word until they were placed back into classes again, ignoring each other totally the night of the teachers death and the following day. Both were called into a counselling session, the specially employed psychiatrist who'd been called in writing in his report that both were dealing with the shock in the best way that could be expected. Both boys were careful not to trigger any warning bells on that score. Gregory would have enjoyed the peace more had he not noticed Damien watching him carefully at odd times. There seemed no real reason to the observation, Damien apparently wasn't trying to provoke a reaction for once and it put Gregory's nerves on edge. But the silence, at least, was pleasant.

It couldn't last though and being in classes again meant they were forced to speak, at first sticking to the subject at hand in clipped, abrupt tones, followed by veiled comments displaying their dislike of each other. Still, they managed to get through the day without a real argument, although Gregory noticed that Damien's mood, not good all term, seemed to get blacker all the time.

There was noticeable tension among many of the students that day, caused by the prospect of gym class. There had been two teachers and several boys opined that perhaps it would be cancelled, no substitute had been drafted in to replace Mr Morgan yet and their remaining teacher, Mr Pasarian, was heavily overworked right then. Those hopes were dashed when he showed up, sinking further when it became clear he planned to take out his stress on them by working them to death. Even Gregory, who was in excellent shape and used to the man's behaviour since he was also coached the rugby team, thought it was excessive. He didn't complain however, because not only would it have done no good, they were doing track and track meant no partners, which meant no Damien. It was worth the pay-off.

The showers after were filled with complaints and excess amounts of bitching, but no one could deny it was still better than their last gym session, for obvious reasons. Gregory wandered to his locker afterwards with a towel wrapped around his waist, conversing with Ethan while he put on his pants, donning his shirt and leaving it unbuttoned while he took out his wallet and opened it. He wasn't especially worried about checking his cash or anything like that, money occasionally got ripped off but none of the students actually needed it and Gregory didn't carry much anyway. But he _did_ keep the gold crucifix he always wore in there while he was in gym, so that he didn't break it or lose it. He opened the compartment he'd put the chain in. Nothing.

Frowning, he checked the rest of the wallet, then the locker, although he knew for sure he'd put it in the wallet. No joy, the chain was gone, although his money and cards were still there.

"Fuck!"

Ethan glanced at him, mildly surprised at the emphatic curse. "What's wrong?"

"My chain's missing. I put it in my wallet when I got changed and now it's not here."

"Maybe you forgot to put it on this morning and it's in your room," supplied Ethan. Gregory bit back a snappish retort. He and Ethan had shared a room since he arrived at Yardale up until that term and in all that time, he had only ever removed the chain during gym. That Ethan hadn't noticed that fact didn't surprise him but the implication that Gregory had merely misplaced it was annoying. The crucifix itself had been a gift from his parents, with some sentimental value although it wasn't irreplaceable. And he always wore it, always, much to Christophe's annoyance.

"I didn't forget it."

"Look, your wallet's still there, and the money. I know the chain was worth money, but why would anyone take just that and not the whole wallet, or everything in it? I bet it's in your room somewhere."

Pissed off, Gregory checked the locker again and came up empty, it hadn't fallen from the wallet and been moved when he pulled out his clothes. It had definitely gone and it couldn't have been an accident. But Ethan had a point, who would take a chain and leave the money?

Gregory refrained from slamming the locker with effort and turned, to see Damien, already dressed and apparently about to leave, heading his way and ready to walk past him. Yates, who had shared a room with Damien prior to Gregory, was following the boy and chattering excitedly about something, his girlfriend by the sound. It was against the rules to date the girls from the local town, but it was one rule that was rarely re-enforced. Although Gregory would have thought Yates would be the last person to get one of the famously aloof locals and didn't care about the boys social life at all, it had been clear even to him that Yates was wholly smitten. If Yates had thought it would win him cool-points with his clique though, he had to be disappointed. Damien was giving no indication that he was even listening to his so-called friend.

As Damien drew almost level with them, his eyes focused on Gregory and he smirked, a wholly fake look of concern on his face. When he spoke, his voice was level but Yates stopped talking as if he'd shouted, perhaps knowing Damien would think his own conversation more important. "What's up Greg? You look stressed."

Gregory's eyes narrowed. Damien was nothing like easy-going, trusting Ethan and he was pretty sure he didn't miss much either; _Damien _would know that gym class was the only time Gregory ever removed the crucifix. He was also the only person that wanted to rile Gregory up and the type to do something that left his victim in no doubt who was behind their misfortune, along with no way to prove it.

The thing was that Damien had been in class along with Gregory the whole time, meaning he couldn't have taken the chain. But he had friends who were more like minions, three of them weren't in their gym class and they _certainly_ could have taken it. Although the information and the orders to do so would have had to come straight from Damien, the others wouldn't know enough about Gregory to know where it would be and the only time it wasn't around his neck.

Then he checked himself, he was starting to get _seriously_ paranoid. That was more like a conspiracy theory than a logical plan, a lot of effort for a nasty little prank.

"No stress," he said evenly, masking his dislike even though the other knew it was there. "I left my crucifix in my room."

"I thought you never took it off."

"You'd know," said Gregory, unable to help the jibe. "You haven't taken your eyes off it for the last three days."

Damien's superficially concerned face immediately became angry. "I don't like what you're implying Greg. Are you saying _I_ took it?"

"I didn't say it had been taken." Gregory raised his eyebrows. "I said I left it in the room. What are _you_ implying, Damien?"

There was a slight pause, then Damien took a swing at Gregory. Gregory had been half-expecting it, although he wouldn't have done usually – Damien was the only person Gregory knew who had the same kind of self-control as himself. But Damien's recent mood wasn't conducive to covering rationally for his slip and he'd already proven ready to scrap at any moment.

For his part, Gregory had decided he'd had about as much as he could take. It had been bad enough until now, but the thought of people going anywhere near his personal things infuriated him. Damien wasn't a trained fighter and his actions gave away the move he was about to make before he made it, throwing a punch directly at Gregory's face. For most people it wouldn't have been enough warning, but Gregory jerked his body aside so that Damien's fist sailed past his head and collided with the locker behind.

Damien hadn't been holding back and the sound of flesh hitting steel was loud. Gregory was smugly sure what should happen next; Damien would split his knuckles and pull his hand back, whining perhaps or maybe pretending that was what he had intended to do all along, but certainly wary about doing anything further.

That was what _should_ have happened next. What _actually_ happened was that Damien hit the locker, pulled his fist back without acknowledging any pain and grabbed Gregory's unfastened shirt instead, pulling him closer and then shoving him back into the lockers. That move Gregory _hadn't_ seen coming and it took him completely by surprise, not giving him the chance to take preventative measures.

He rebounded from the lockers and instinctively launched himself forward again, mildly annoyed with himself, he'd been way off with_ that _judgement. But this wasn't something he could let go, not if he didn't want the rest of the term to be a living hell. Not if he didn't want Damien to win. Ethan and Yates backed off and started shouting, protests or encouragement, Gregory didn't know or care. All he knew was that their shouts would attract the other students attention and the time for backing away, had backing away ever been an option, had gone.

Gregory used his forward momentum, planting his hands on Damien's chest and shoving him hard. Damien took a couple of stumbling steps back and for a second it looked like he'd go over, then he saved himself by grabbing Gregory's shirt. The pair grappled for long seconds, trying to wrestle each other to the floor while landing the occasional hard punch to their foe. For a short time they were evenly matched, but Gregory was almost sure he was about to get the upper hand. It seemed certain that Damien was more nervous than he was letting on, already his skin was too warm...

And that was when Mr Pasarian ploughed through the cheering students and grabbed both their shirts, trying to separate them. They both disregarded him, neither willing to be the first to give in, and he finally managed to get in between them, forcing them apart and meaning they'd have to punch around him to continue. Gregory took a step back, eyes narrowed at Damien but knowing the incident was over; the teachers authority had ended things as decisively as a wall between them.

Damien looked up.

Gregory's own gaze immediately went up there too, the memory of their last fight and what happened in the aftermath still fresh in his mind. And it was deja vu, gym class, both of them brawling, teacher pulling them apart...

The ceiling remained intact, nothing falling. Gregory looked back at Damien and saw the boys slow, deliberate smirk and raised eyebrows. Gregory glared at him, wondering just how many people would miss the tosser if he had a little accident and the body was never found. Probably no one.

"You boys." Mr Pasarian turned from one of them to the other with deep disgust etched on his face. "Eighteen years old and fighting like nine year olds. I _will not_ stand for it, not now. Detention. Both of you. The moment your lessons end, you will _both_ be back here and you will _both_ be doing cross country. Three miles. And if you're still not to tired to fight, I'll just find you something else to do! Get dressed and get out of my sight."

Gregory buttoned his shirt, finding his tie and fastening it quickly. Damien merely gave Yates an imperious come-along gesture and left the gym with the boy trotting along after him. The students started to disperse with the show over, Gregory still having to hold back from punching the locker, hard. He wasn't sure he could put up with this until July. Damien wasn't being so sneaky about pissing him off anymore and he was on edge for some reason, what that might be Gregory didn't know or care. All that mattered was that he could live with Damien's comments and random meanness, but if the other boy was going to get physical then Gregory would have to deal with it. Which meant either losing face with the other students (and more importantly with _himself_) by being beaten, or getting into some serious trouble with the school authorities and looking like a loose cannon by giving Damien the kicking he so richly deserved.

Damien got under his skin. But judging by Damien's actions, it wasn't entirely a one-sided thing.

Gregory and Damien spent most of the rest of the day snarling at each other through their mutual classes but never quite crossing the line of what was acceptable. They avoided each other where ever possible and Gregory rather suspected that Damien would skip out on detention. So he was surprised and dismayed when at the end of the day, he got to the gym fifteen minutes after the end of his last class and found Damien already changing into his gym gear. Perfect. _Brilliant._ Just what he didn't need, more forced proximity with Damien.

They didn't speak at all, until the teacher sent them outside the school to do their cross country – there were fields outside which while officially not part of the school were used by the students all the time, mostly for things like cross country. The teacher informed them of their route, then leaned against the wall with a magazine, watching them over the top of it.

"Thanks a lot," snarled Damien as they began jogging slowly away from the school.

"Hey, you threw the first punch," said Gregory, keeping pace easily with Damien and deciding not to mention the crucifix that had caused the row. That it had vanished pissed him off but there was a good chance it would 'mysteriously' show up back in the room now that Damien had put himself in the frame for taking it. "You got us into this."

"You're a supercilious bastard," muttered Damien, still seeming unusually moody – his usual tactics involved mocking, not direct insults. He fell silent, although he didn't seem to be conserving his breath. More likely he just didn't have anything to say. Which, Gregory mused, would be a first.

The run was not exactly a hardship for either of them, aside from the punishment aspect and the time it consumed. The start was the hardest going, over the marshy field that ran the length of the road to the school, around the perimeter and then on the road itself back to the school. Maybe a mile and a half. It would have been easier had they not been supposed to do it twice.

Gregory spent the jog contemplating his situation. It was strangely comforting to know that Damien _could_ be wound up. It always seemed to be Gregory who lost his cool first, a situation he was definitely unused to with anyone else. He had disliked the feeling that _he_ was the out of control one while Damien managed to keep his cool – but maybe the tension had been affecting Damien after all, since this was the second time in a week.

At least this time, no one had ended up dead.

They completed their first lap and Gregory became aware of the subtle rivalry that they had somehow developed during their punishment. Damien was refusing to let himself drop behind, every time one of them pulled ahead, the other immediately drew level. It meant that they were running alongside each other, through through competitiveness rather than rueful misery over their shared fate.

They hit the smooth stretch of road for their last half mile, neither of them especially out of breath. Damien's sullen brooding hadn't lifted and Gregory was glad; he didn't think he could cope with the boys jibes and comments right then. Then they would be sent back to the sports hall to shower and then released – Gregory hoped that Damien's little band of losers were planning to drag him off somewhere, because he'd like to get some semblance of peace and he hated having to rely on the library or Ethan's room to get a break from Damien.

The sound of an engine travelling the road toward the school filled Gregory's ears. He frowned; he was on the outside, closest to the traffic, while Damien jogged closest to the field. He glanced at the other briefly. "Shove over."

"Make me," replied Damien.

Gregory rolled his eyes, but decided not to force the issue, or drop back or move forward to run in single file. Damien would no doubt pull some stupid stunt to make such a manoeuvre difficult and the road was wide enough for the car to avoid him. And if he tried to push Damien, their teacher was watching in the distance and would see him.

The engine got louder quickly and Gregory started getting concerned. The car, whomever it was, seemed to be going at a fair speed. He glanced back over his shoulder, seeing a nondescript Ford heading their way, toward the school. The car slowed slightly, the driver clearly seeing them although Gregory couldn't make out the driver at the distance and the glare of the sun on the windscreen.

Damien turned to look too, apparently only curious.

As soon as he looked back, the car sped up again, tyres screaming as the car surged forward. At the same time it swerved, heading right for them.

The thought that it was some stupid prank entered and left Gregory's head before it could be properly acknowledged. If this was a joke it was about to backfire spectacularly, the car wasn't changing direction and was going far too fast to hit the brakes and avoid smashing into them.

Gregory's instinct kicked in before he could wonder about what the hell was going on, unconsciously deciding on a course of action. He lunged to the side, grabbing Damien and throwing him too, both of them crashing into the field and rolling. A scant second later, the car sped past them, churning up mud and spraying them both with dirt, but missing them – just. The wheels passed mere inches away from Damien's head..

Gregory raised himself to his hands and knees as quickly as he was able, looking up for the car. It had barely slowed, but the driver had whipped the car around and was fighting for control, attempting to straighten it up.

It was heading back for them.

Gregory grabbed Damien's arm, trying to yank him up. At the same time, he was frantically trying to plan. They couldn't outrun the car and there was nowhere they could take cover. They were totally exposed and the driver, for whatever reason, seemed determined to run them down.

Damien didn't get to his feet, instead raising a hand as if in some futile attempt to protect himself from the oncoming collision...

...And the car suddenly changed course.

Gregory was certain the wheels didn't turn, that they remained locked on course to hit them – and yet as soon as Damien moved, the entire vehicle seemed to _turn_, as if moved faster than the eye could see by some invisible hand.

The driver finally hit the brakes, but it was too little, too late. The change in direction had set the Ford on a collision course directly for a tree in the centre of the field There was a loud crash as metal crumpled and the car finally came to a stop.

Damien rose slowly to his feet, and as Gregory turned to look and make sure he was uninjured, he saw the other boys eyes narrowing.

A moment later, the car erupted into flame.

"Shit!" Gregory took a few hurried steps backward, startled. Although the crash had been serious, it hadn't seemed as if there had been imminent danger of an explosion. And what had happened could hardly be described as an explosion anyway. Gregory's eyes had been momentarily off the car and he wasn't an expert on crashes, but shouldn't the fire have engulfed the petrol tank and blown it up? Instead, the fire seemed to have started within the cars interior, the seats igniting and burning fiercely, far too quickly for anything to be done.

The drivers screams were agonised but mercifully brief.

Gregory gazed at the mess, shocked at what had just happened... and worried. Something had been _very_ wrong with that, aside from the obvious of someone trying to kill them for no reason he could see. The way the car had veered away from them, the strangeness of the fire, it had all just been – weird.

Damien hadn't moved from his former position, the flames casting shadows over his face. Gregory took a few steps forward, wondering if maybe his room mate was in shock. But a closer look seemed to deny that opinion. A grim smile played over his face, his eyes fixed on the burning vehicle displaying an uneasy mix of satisfaction and anger. It was a trick of the flames – it had to be – because at that moment, Gregory could have sworn Damien's eyes were red.

"_Get away from there!"_

Gregory jerked his head up, realising that Damien too was turning to look behind them. Mr Pasarian, apparently momentarily frozen at the rapid action, had finally decided to move and was approaching them with some caution, no doubt afraid of the car exploding properly.

"Are you hurt?" He didn't wait for a reply, seeing them both on their feet and drawing his own conclusions. "Get back to the school. Explain what happened to the head, I'm calling – I'm calling someone..." He seemed shell-shocked, not that Gregory much blamed him.

Damien didn't respond, merely walked away. Gregory paused long enough to see the mobile phone in the teachers hand before catching up with him. Damien wasn't hurrying and that wasn't usual, most civilians in Gregory's experience would be breaking their neck to get help. Gregory was well aware that the driver was beyond their help, but he found the lack of urgency disconcerting.

They were both caked in mud and grass stains, Gregory noticed. People would think they had been fighting again, when in fact he might just have saved Damien's life.

Damien glanced sideways at Gregory, not seeming terribly concerned by the events that had just happened. Gregory found that disturbing too. He was more used to that sort of thing than most people and the very suddenness had taken him by surprise. He suspected his hands might even be shaking, now adrenaline was coursing through him and the danger was past.

"Nice reflexes back there," said Damien grudgingly.

Gregory wondered if that was supposed to be thanks. If it was, he didn't think much of the gratitude. Once again he was tempted to put it down to shock, only Damien really didn't _seem_ very shocked. He wasn't even displaying the glassy calm that came with delaying shock. It was as if he had merely taken the entire thing into his stride, as if people tried to mow him down on a daily basis.

"What the fuck was _that_ all about?" Gregory asked sharply.

Damien shrugged, but Gregory noticed that his former sullen demeanour was either hidden or entirely gone, replaced by his usual disdainful good humour. "Some prick trying to make us jump. Sure worked on you." He turned his head to look at Gregory, eyebrows raised. "Unless you've got enemies _that _determined to see you dead and if so Greg, I'd rather you didn't walk with me. No offence."

Gregory scowled, not liking how close to the truth Damien had inadvertently skirted. "Whoever it was wasn't messing about. He missed you by an inch the first time and the second – he had us dead bang. There was no way we could have avoided him, or out-run him. What the hell happened?"

He was treated to another shrug, a gesture he was getting heartily sick of. "I guess he realised he was gonna hit us and tried to swerve. Lost control and boom. Fucking moron."

"The wheels didn't move," said Gregory before he could censor himself. "They were locked straight at us and then – I don't know, it was like the car was suddenly going in another direction. Like it was moved..." He trailed off, realising how impossible it sounded, how stupid.

Damien looked back at him expressionlessly. "You're traumatised."

"I am not fucking _traumatised_!"

"Oh? You think the car was moved by the wind? Telekinesis? Magic? Are we studying at Hogwart's now?"

"Of course not."

"Then it had to have just veered. The fuckhead lost control, that's all." Damien smirked. "Although I can see why you'd misremember what happened. You've had a terrible shock. Poor thing."

"You _fucking_..."

"Boys!" The principal was hurrying to the gates, presumably having seen the fire or been alerted by Mr Pasarian, although it seemed unlikely that enough time had gone by for the teacher to alert the authorities _and_ the school. "What happened?"

"Someone crashed a car," said Damien, sounding bored. "Pasarian's dealing with it."

The Principal looked momentarily thrown. "I want you boys to go get cleaned up and be in my office in one hour."

Gregory nodded and Damien smirked, both of them walking through the gates and toward the school. Damien looked up at the window. "I'm gonna go use Sam's shower."

Damien took off and Gregory stared after him for a moment before heading to their shared room. He wasn't sure why Damien had chosen to be considerate, but he was glad of it – and maybe it wasn't that Damien was being considerate, perhaps he was more shaken than he had let on and was just trying to get away from his arch enemy before he showed it.

Gregory let himself into the room, stripping off his filthy sports clothes realising he'd left his phone along with his bag, back in the sports hall. His first instinct had been to contact Christophe and find out if he should have been expecting someone to put a hit on him – but a car, a hit and run in a semi-public place with witnesses? That seemed unlikely. Even given the improbability of someone they'd pissed off finding out his name, his school and that he would be jogging at that moment, the weapon of choice was all wrong, amateurish. If someone were to take him out, it would more likely be a sniper. So the driver was unlikely to be after him, which meant there was no need to trouble Christophe with what had occurred – Gregory hated to admit to Christophe that he might be anything less than perfectly capable. He hated to admit that fact to anyone, but Christophe's opinion mattered more than most peoples.

The second option was that Damien had been right and it had been a stupid trick gone horribly wrong. But that didn't ring true either. The driver was deliberately heading for Yardale and hadn't veered slightly to startle them – he had driven right at them, then turned to do it again.

But if it hadn't been a trick and he hadn't been after Gregory, then the only other target there was Damien.

Gregory could understand completely why someone would want to kill Damien – he battled the urge every day. Damien was an arse and his frequent unpleasantness had probably made him plenty of enemies over the years. But there were degrees of dislike. This hadn't been a mean prank or petty vengeance, this had been an attempted murder, along with taking an apparently innocent bystander with the intended victim. As tiresome as Damien was, it would take a lot of bitterness to go to those extremes.

No, it was unlikely that the driver had been targeting Damien. He was a normal rich kid who fancied himself as something special, but in truth he was completely average and no one could hate him enough to see him dead.

But if that was the case, then just what the hell _had _the driver been playing at?

With a sigh, Gregory turned the shower on, adjusting the temperature – Damien had used it last and he always left it on a stupidly high temperature, hot enough to scald – and climbed under the spray, sloughing away the dirt and sweat that had accumulated from the run and the dive into the mud. He turned over the incident in his mind, attacking it with relentless logic. It was possible, he supposed, that due to the stress of the situation and the speed it happened at and the distance he had been from the car, that he had merely not seen the front wheels turn as the driver fought to avoid hitting them. There was a chance that a fire could begin inside the car rather than in the tank, perhaps there had been something inside that had been dislodged during the crash and created the fire. Perhaps it was a stupid, dangerous joke gone too far.

He didn't like that explanation though. The whole thing had been too weird to be put down to sheer accident – but then again, when Damien was around, there were a lot of weird accidents.

Gregory shampooed his hair, lost in thought. That much at least was true. This was the second incident in a week that Damien had been indirectly involved with – although looking at it like that, _Gregory _was indirectly involved too. He'd been present for both, Damien wasn't alone in that respect. But nothing even remotely similar had happened _before_ Damien had arrived at Yardale.

Well it was a coincidence, Gregory told himself uneasily as he ducked his head beneath the spray. It had to be. There was no other logical conclusion. Because there was no way that Damien could have caused any of the things that had happened, that much Gregory had witnessed for himself.

But he didn't like it one bit. It was far too many coincidences to _be_ a coincidence - and yet, there was no other rational explanation.


	4. Darkness Blinds

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to Aiconx, super manako sohma, Moku, tazrr, xxSay and Bethany C. MacKenzie (good luck with the finals hon!) for the reviews. As always, they're much appreciated and reassures me that I'm doing this incredibly bizarre pairing justice.

This chapter was originally two chapters, but I was getting a bit anxious about the pacing – there's a gradual build up and then there's too fucking slow. So I combined it and as of the next chapter, everything will suddenly start moving extremely fast. Leave a review to let me know if you enjoyed this chapter and I hope to have the next up within a week or so.

**~:~**

_If your darkness blinds me I could never be more lost..._

**~:~**

By the time he left the Principals office, Gregory's need for a cigarette had become all but uncontrollable. He used to smile indulgently at Christophe whenever the man had bitched about his desperation for one of the cancer sticks, tell him that the craving was all in his head and he just had to focus on something else, but now he thought he understood a little better; it was a physical _need_ and right then, it was either smoke or eat his own hand..

The Principal had wanted to know what had happened, what they had seen. Damien had been sullenly quiet, something Gregory was familiar with thanks to the behaviour of someone else, and had responded to most of the questions on his behalf. He'd skimmed over the facts, stating merely that he'd noticed an old model blue Ford veering toward them and they had both dived out of the way, seeing little more than the vehicle skid out of control and crash into the tree. The Principal had asked if they needed the nurse or more counselling, but at the same time had tried to make the incident seem less important, no doubt in case recent events traumatised them enough to ask their parents to withdraw them. Fees were paid in advance of course, but word spread fast among the wealthy elite and a second accident could make people – jumpy.

Both boys had politely dismissed the idea of physical or mental assistance and although Damien's entire demeanour had been of disinterest, Gregory had played it slightly dumb. Indicating that he wasn't sure it had been an accident would have been incredibly stupid, but too much shock would have been just as bad. He seemed to have hit just the right combination of macho posturing and mild concern though, because their head teacher had dismissed them in the end, seemingly relieved that nothing more was being made of it by the two.

Damien's friends were waiting at the end of the hall when they exited – his _real_ friends, noted Gregory, Sam, Danny and Cain. Yates was nowhere to be seen and he wondered if that was because he was voluntarily elsewhere or hadn't been informed of the meeting. Or been invited to piss off, that wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination either.

The trio all gave Gregory identical looks of disdain, which Gregory returned in kind. But Damien ignored Gregory and apparently the behaviour of his friends as well, merely jerking his head in a come-along gesture and walking along the corridor and out of the door at the end. He didn't exchange a word with Gregory and the blonde found himself wondering if this was what constituted some form of gratitude, or if Damien had mentally reviewed events and changed them to fit his own view of himself, editing Gregory's role to insignificant. Whatever, Gregory wasn't holding high hopes of getting thanks any time soon.

Scowling, he walked from the door and into Yardale's spacious grounds, looking around and seeing no sign of the four boys who had preceded him, presumably they had already entered the dorm building, which was close by. Gregory went in the other direction, toward the woods. He entered undetected, although it was still daylight and there were a few people wandering around the grounds. Gregory knew how to avoid being seen. He strolled away from the edge and deeper into the trees, pulling the cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one before he was even sure he was away from detection. He honestly didn't care about being caught at that point, he cared about inhaling a lungful of smoke.

Finding a clump of trees not too far from the edge of the woods, he ducked out of sight and smoked furiously, feeling himself relax more with every drag. He needed to start being careful with these things or he'd end up like Christophe, never without one of the bloody things, so crazily addicted he was craving one before he even blew out the final drag of smoke. And if he left Yardale with a full-time habit, Christophe would laugh himself stupid after all the lectures Gregory had given and never let him hear the end of it.

Letting his mind wander, Gregory wondered what it would take to remove the cigarette from Christophe's lips for any significant amount of time. It would work, perhaps, if Gregory was to just snatch the damn thing from him and press their lips together, catching Christophe in an unexpected kiss, pulling him closer aggressively and taking his mind away from the fucking cigarettes altogether..

Chuckling ruefully to himself, Gregory dropped the butt to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot. Perhaps the reason he needed to smoke so much recently wasn't so much a craving for nicotine as it was a craving to taste Christophe. Not that he had anything but his imagination to go on in _that_ department of course. And it was something he really shouldn't be thinking of anyway, the last thing he needed was to return to his room lost in dreams and mildly aroused.

He heard distant voices and paused, listening. Whomever it was, they were treading near to the woods but not actually in them and that suggested a teacher, but there was more than one and that suggested students. Either way, he would just wait there until they had passed and then light another. Only because he needed the nicotine rush and nothing to do with imagining Christophe's kisses, of course.

"...Secret you were in the shit, but how did they know _when_ and _where_, unless someone talked?"

Gregory sighed, moving so he was further hidden by the tree. That was Danny's voice, which meant that Sam and Cain were around. And that meant that Damien was there too. Although hopefully they were just passing by.

"It's the girl," added a second voice, Cain it sounded like. "I know it is. He only got the detention a few hours ago, so someone had to say something since then and at the speed the car went at, I'd say they were in a hurry to get here before it was too late. So, say he called her after school and mentioned the fight. She finds out he's outside the school gates, sees her chance and comes tearing down here."

Gregory's interest was piqued. He peered around the tree, but the angle was bad and although he could see Sam walking with the group, he couldn't see much else without giving himself away.

"Think anyone'll make the connection?" asked Sam.

"He won't talk."

Gregory couldn't see the speaker, but he'd recognise that voice even though he could barely make out the words now they were heading away; Damien. His least favourite person in the world.

"...But just to be sure. And because he's really fucking annoying me lately..."

The voices floated out of earshot and Gregory took a third glance around the tree, seeing their shapes vanish in the shadows further toward the school. With a frown, he lit another cigarette. Cain had mentioned a car, it had to be the one that had nearly mown himself and Damien down earlier. The rest of it was a total mystery, but he made it sound as if someone had deliberately targeted Damien. A girl. That made things suddenly a lot more understandable, a pissed-off girl might have decided to get a little payback; women, as a species were unpredictable and overly-dramatic.

It didn't explain why Damien wasn't more upset over the crash, even if she was just a crazy stalker or one-night stand, but Gregory suddenly felt more at ease. Some stupid girl obsessed over Damien, no doubt one of the emo-types who were given to overblown gestures and self-harm. And maybe once the woman was identified, their connection would become clear and a quiet word to Damien's parents might just have Damien finishing his schooling elsewhere. Gregory figured he was due a little good luck.

Finishing his cigarette, Gregory headed back to the dorm, deciding to find a place to hide out the rest of the night. He really didn't feel like answering questions right then. People would look for him in his room and he didn't have a good excuse to turn his phone off, except in one place, the library. He decided it might be a good idea to do some studying in peace for once.

Fortunately there was no sign of Damien and Gregory was able to grab his things without disturbance. He took a couple of textbooks and notepads with him, going over to the spacious library, which was always prominently featured in the school prospectus. It was an old-fashioned room in many respects, the modernities looking somewhat out of place, but Gregory was not after internet access that evening, he just wanted a quiet corner. An unoccupied desk behind a shelf of art texts allowed him the privacy he craved and he settled down to do some work.

Only studying wasn't going to be easy. His mind kept wandering, mulling over the weird coincidences that had arisen lately. The teachers death had been an accident, bizarre but not anything else. The car though, that had been deliberate. And Gregory wasn't given to flights of fantasy or panic, so he didn't know how he had seen the car change direction without the wheels turning – but he must have imagined it, because the alternative was too ridiculous to contemplate.

"Gregory?"

Gregory glanced up from his study to see Yates standing by his desk, eyes glancing around shiftily as if he expected to be seen any minute and possibly punished for daring to speak to the enemy. Sighing, Gregory tapped his pen against his notebook. "What is it?"

"Uh..." Yates slid into the free chair beside Gregory's and the blonde frowned. He didn't like Yates and he had no desire to converse with the smug little bastard. But right then, Yates didn't look smug at all. He looked nervous, shifty. Almost afraid.

"Spit it out. I'm busy."

"Damien," said Yates in a rapid exhalation, almost as if he was forcing himself to say the name.

Gregory glared. "Whatever idiocy Damien put you up to, just don't bother. I'm busy."

"No, it's not – he doesn't know I'm..." Yates looked down at the table, continuing in a low, dreary voice. "I'm scared."

"Of Damien?" Gregory snorted. "Don't be. He's all mouth and no trousers, that boy."

Yates gave a snort of wild, humourless laughter, looking back up at Gregory "You mean it? I mean – you share a room with him and you don't _know_?"

Gregory was growing bored of the conversation. "Know what? That he farts all night? That he's physically incapable of picking up towels? That he talks a good game but he can't back it up? Stop me when..."

"He does. Things."

"...Excuse me?"

"He can – he's not like other people. He can do..." Yates trailed off, looking at his hands which were nervously rubbing each other in his lap. "Things. Weird stuff happens around him."

"If this is what happened to that teacher..."

"No. Wait, yes. Kind of." Yates sighed, the weary sigh of someone bound to tell the whole story, even though apparent it will not be received kindly. "He has a birthmark."

"Huh?" Gregory tried to keep track of a conversation that seemed to have gone off on a bizarre tangent. "So what?"

"It's on his head, here." Yates pointed to a spot high on the left of his scalp. "It's – wait, look." He plucked Gregory's pen from his hand and drew on the margin of his notebook. The finished product was a little strange for a birthmark, it looked like three sixes forming a three-pointed star due to their positioning. It was stupid, just some numbers put together randomly, but Gregory felt a small chill of unease as he looked at it.

"I don't see what a birthmark has to do with anything," said Gregory, starting to become convinced that Yates was playing some role in an elaborate, baffling hoax. Another point occurred to him and he raised his eyebrows, giving Yates a stern look. The boy was a good actor, he'd give him that. "Anyway, when would you have seen this?"

"When we shared a room, last term."

"I still don't see how you saw it, unless he shaved his head one night and it grew back before morning."

"He let me look," replied Yates, almost whispering, his eyes cast firmly down. "He was talking about it and I didn't believe him, because y'know, I knew every inch of him and I knew he didn't have a birthmark. So he let me look. It's a special mark."

Gregory pulled an incredulous face, less concerned with the birthmark than he was with what Yates had actually said. "Wait, what? You make it sound like you and him were..."

Yates managed to shoot a brief, nervous look at Gregory before looking down again, telling the blonde everything he needed to know. "Ohhh."

"It's wasn't..." Yates swallowed hard and tried again. "We didn't do anything. It wasn't like _that_. I didn't touch him, he would have ripped off my arm and made me eat it. But he likes to be mean, he'd walk around naked all the time because he _knew_ if he told me to, I would've let him. And every time he stripped off, I'd be thinking, _is this it, is this when he decides he's sick of playing with me? _Because I couldn't have denied him, I would have done anything for him. _Anything_."

Yates looked around wildly, his voice getting slightly louder but still meant for Gregory's ears only. "I mean, when Damien's around, he – he does something to you. I can't tell up from down or black from white or right from wrong, and I don't_ want_ to either. I don't know where my own thoughts end and his begin any more. He's everywhere. He's in my head, he's in my soul, he's just... he's everywhere. Everywhere. And I worship him. I idolise him, he's the only thing I care about any more. I'd do anything for him, I'd kill myself for him if he asked, I'd do it just to amuse him and he _knows_ that and I – I..."

Gregory stared, completely at a loss for words.

"And I messed up." Yates sounded like he was fighting exhaustion or tears. Or both. "I let him down and I don't deserve his forgiveness, I'm not worthy of it, but I'm still – I'm still scared..."

"James." Gregory used Yates given name for the first time ever, wondering if the boy was already in the midst of a breakdown, or if he were just teetering on some verge he could be pulled back from. "You don't have to be scared of him. He can't do much except be nasty for a couple of months. And – I don't know what he did to get that level of, uh, devotion from you, but he's really not worth it. Believe me."

Yates regarded him through dull, sad eyes, getting slowly to his feet. "I thought you might get it, but... I suppose it doesn't matter now anyway."

"Wait." Gregory stood up as well, catching Yates's wrist. "What are you talking about?"

Yates looked down at Gregory's hand and pulled weakly from his grasp. Although Gregory could have fought the move, he chose not to. Yates didn't look like he was going to respond to being forced to talk either.

"I had a girlfriend, in the town," he said in the same lifeless voice. "I met her at the end of last term. I know we're not supposed to go meeting up with the townies but – y'know. It's not like I'm the first guy, or the only guy. She took my mind off everything and she liked to hear me talk. She listened to me talk about all my friends. Especially Damien. She didn't care that I talked about him all the time. She always listened to me, even when I told her what I just told you. I tried to call her tonight, but her phone's out of service."

He grinned and Gregory had to force himself not to recoil from the expression. It bore no resemblance to a true smile at all.

"I always wondered what she saw in me. She was twenty, from a totally different world to us. She hadn't been in town long, just blew in one day with all the shit she owned packed on the back-seat. She loved that car. Second-hand Ford. Blue. She called it Charley, how fucking stupid is that?"

Yates tilted his head as he waited for this information to register with Gregory, but shook his head before the blonde could speak.

"Thanks for not laughing at me," he said, turning and leaving the library. Gregory stared after him long after the boy long after he had left, deeply troubled.

~:~

Ever since his return to Yardale from military school, Gregory had kept up some of the disciplines that had been a central part to the establishment. Yardale was far less rigid about athletic codes, understandably so, but Gregory was always aware that he should be in peak physical condition. He wasn't as strong as Christophe, but compared to most boys of his age, he was awesomely fit. And given his recently acquired cigarette habit, he needed all the extra lung power he could get.

He rose early each morning to take some exercise, mostly running. It was useful without being overly suspicious and it cleared his mind before a day of learning, boredom and more recently, Damien's bullshit. He stayed out of sight of the dorm rooms simply because he didn't appreciate being watched and he was back in his own room in time to shower and dress for the day.

Damien had noticed this and was frequently in the shower before Gregory returned, taking long enough that the blonde would have to either be late for breakfast or forgo washing. He usually chose the former, there was no rule about being on time to the morning meal, the assumption being that if they didn't want to starve, they would show up early enough to eat. It irked Gregory, he knew that Damien timed it deliberately so that he would have to run through his routine at top speed or else go hungry. Just one more thing that made Damien a bloody annoyance.

The morning after the incident with Yates though, he rose almost an hour earlier than normal. Damien had been in a black mood the previous evening and although he had barely spoken, his anger seemed to have permeated the dorm and left Gregory as unsettled and irritable as the boy himself. It hadn't been much better once the lights were out; Gregory had somehow felt simultaneously filled with nervous energy, yet tired and sluggish. The weird combination had made it impossible for him to sleep in anything but short bursts, but too exhausted to get out of bed and do something to improve his lot. The entire atmosphere felt charged, as if there were an electrical storm on the horizon.

And his usual dreamless state had been punctuated by snatches of mental pictures; rain churning up the landscape, fire, running across a field in the combat gear he wore on a mission, pursued by some animal that he never saw. Gregory couldn't say any of them were exactly bad dreams, nor were they long – more an impression than an actual dream – but they left him unsettled.

At one point, he thought he awoke to see Damien standing by the window, staring out across the grounds, what little light there was casting his handsome face into cold contemplation, no trace of his customary arrogance. But he believed that would have woken him properly and the next time he could be sure he truly was awake, Damien was huddled under his own covers, breathing slowly and evenly and Gregory knew the last had to be a part of some dream.

He gave up on sleep as soon as he could command his body to leave the bed, contemplating that it had been almost like being feverish without the illness, what with the strange thoughts and inability to be either fully awake or asleep. But he felt just fine in spite of all that.

He cast a sour look at the other bed, where one of Damien's bare arms and the back of his head was visible. Most likely, it had been Damien poisoning the air in the room with his shitty mood. It was unlike Gregory to think in such a way, not really thinking that emotional states carried physical weight, but it seemed as good an explanation as any, plus something about Damien's worst tempers always seemed to leave everyone around the boy on edge. And of course, it was satisfying to blame Damien for everything.

So thinking, Gregory went into the bathroom and dressed in a vest top and sweat pants, heading through the door of the room and out. And because Damien's face was turned away from him, he didn't realise that the other boy had his eyes wide open, not sleeping at all.

Gregory debated the track and decided against it; he didn't feel like running an easy surface that morning. There had been some light rain during the night, nothing that would make grass terribly difficult, but it was still slightly more challenging than the asphalt. The thought led Gregory to a decision he would quickly come to regret. Instead of doing laps, he went in the direction of the fields where most of the sports were played, thinking that running around there a few times would clear his head far better.

He jogged toward the field, his mind not on anything much. For once, he wasn't thinking about how frustrating it was to have Damien around all the time, or about how he planned to resolve the situation with Christophe, or about school work, the future, the way his work as a hired soldier contradicted some of his ideologies. There were no memories of Mr Morgan's odd accident, or the incident with the car, or the fearful, pinched look Yates wore while he spoke of his worries. The only things on Gregory's mind were the ground beneath him, the cool morning air, the loosening of his muscles as he exercised.

In spite of that, he noticed the person as soon as they came into his line of sight.

He stopped, all senses on high alert. It was a precautionary thing, his training coming into play; surely there was nothing that could be sinister at some rich kids boarding school. Still, he assessed the situation before acting further.

It could have been a pile of clothes lying in the centre of the hockey pitch, but it wasn't. There was an arm splayed out, what seemed to be neatly cut light brown hair, a school uniform. The reason Gregory's mind had supplied the pile of clothes suggestion was because it was so strange. Why would anyone be out at that hour in the morning, in uniform, lying on the wet grass?

His training suggested he make himself scarce and let someone else deal with the situation. But there was no way he could do that, not if the person was injured or even just collapsed after an ill-advised secret midnight drunk. It would be sensible to leave immediately, but it wouldn't be right. Instead, he hurried over to the person, unconsciously avoiding leaving too many traces of his own, stopping maybe half a metre away and kneeling to see what had happened.

It took a cursory glance for him to realise two things; the boy sprawled out there was Yates and he was dead.

Most people would have backed away, or called for help, or took off running, but Gregory Thorne was not most people. He gave no outward sign that he was even remotely disturbed by the discovery and his mind wasn't concentrating on the implications so much as the harsh reality. Without touching the body, he looked over the boy dispassionately. Yates was lain on his back with his arm across his chest, as if he'd been trying to turn or perhaps protect himself as he died. He was wearing a heavy jacket and a small rucksack was dropped carelessly some distance away. A wallet, fat with money, lay half-hidden beneath the body.

The heavy jacket was torn on the arms and Yates's throat was one large, gaping wound. Gregory narrowed his eyes as he looked at it. That hadn't been done by any knife, no matter how inexpert the carrier or how much Yates had struggled. The edges of the injury looked almost as if they had been chewed and the tears in the jacket told their own story; he'd seen the same thing before, usually accompanied by a stream of French curses.

He glanced across the field, working out the most likely scenario. Yates had been leaving school, that much was clear by the amount of money and the rucksack. Running away, although he seemed far too old for such a gesture, in the dead of night when he was less likely to be seen or stopped or questioned. He had gotten out of the building undetected when – what? Had he been crossing the field deliberately? Probably not, Gregory decided, there was no easy escape from the premises this way. A glance at the uniform trousers seemed to confirm this, they were damp and several splatters of mud had found their way almost to the knees, caused by running feet churning up the field. So, sometime after leaving the building he had started fleeing across the hockey pitch, probably trying to evade something chasing him, been caught. Raised his arms to protect his face, been bitten, then whatever had attacked him had gone for the kill before leaving.

Oh yeah, he'd recognise a dog bite anywhere.

Yates's unseeing eyes seemed to stare at him reproachfully, as if reminding Gregory that he'd asked for help, tried to explain he was afraid and been dismissed as melodramatic.

Gregory glanced around once again, but there was no sign of any animals save for the distant sound of birds. Still, it was time to make himself scarce. Christophe had passed on his pathological hatred of guard dogs and even without that consideration, the last thing Gregory needed was to be linked to a police investigation by finding the body. He had to get back to his room and let someone else 'discover' Yates. It would probably give that person nightmares for the rest of their life, but that wasn't his problem.

Checking that he hadn't left any trace of his presence, Gregory hustled back to the school building. He didn't see anyone, but just before he re-entered, he paused as he heard some faint noise coming from the direction of the field. Maybe a shout of alarm. He'd left just in time.

Frowning deeply, he made his way back to his room. If he was stopped now, he could always say he'd been on the track, which wasn't close enough to the hockey pitch for him to have seen anything, nor was it something unusual for him. He wouldn't come under suspicion of anything, but that wasn't what was on his mind.

How the _fuck_ was what had happened to Yates even possible?

Yates had run, he'd been savaged in the middle of the bloody hockey field and no one had heard anything. That he'd been scared and panicked was a given, had it been Gregory, he would have bolted back for the school rather than an open space where any four-legged mammal immediately gained a speed advantage. And he wouldn't have wasted his breath shouting for help. But _Yates_ would have. Gregory could envision Yates fleeing, pudgy body stumbling every time he looked over his shoulder to see if the animal had gained any ground, shouting and crying.

And where the hell had the dog come from? It had to be a big bastard and it was unusual for a household pet to go in for such an attack. Even a mean one, which was more likely to be locked securely away – and Yardale was isolated, why would it have even been there?

Gregory sighed, rubbing his forehead as he entered his room. He supposed it was plausible. Yates could have startled some escaped guard dog, perhaps one even bred for illegal dog fights. He could have gone unheard, some distance from where everyone else slept and without enough breath left to let out a loud enough cry for help. The dog could have gone afterwards, making for the woods without leaving so much as a turd to show where it had been. It _could_ have happened like that, only Gregory didn't believe it. Something about the whole situation stank.

Damien was already showered and half-dressed, to Gregory's minor surprise. He was back early and usually Damien timed his dressing just right to completely fuck up Gregory's preferred routine. But then, nothing about this day so far had been normal and it wasn't even time for breakfast yet.

Damien ignored him and Gregory returned the favour, although for the first time he was wondering about some other issues with Yates. Namely, why he'd been running in the first place. Yates could have arranged for his parents to remove him that morning, he was a mummy's boy and he could have easily forced the issue. But he hadn't, he'd tried to go in the night. Either he didn't want anyone to know he was going, or he hadn't been able to wait.

And the day before, he'd tried to say something about Damien – and he'd been scared witless, something Gregory had put down to the weak boys fear of being beaten or ridiculed or bullied by his former friends. But maybe it had been enough to make him want to get the hell away from Yardale immediately, trying to flee trouble only to run right into something worse. The entire conversation had made Gregory uneasy and now he cursed himself for not going after Yates and demanding he told everything rather than talking in those weird, cryptic statements.

Damien rose, grabbing his shirt and putting it on, glancing idly out of the window. "Something's going on out there."

"Yeah?" said Gregory, aiming for disinterest, the emotion he usually employed at any news delivered by Damien, although this time it was to cover himself rather than not caring.

"Cops just got here. They're going to the hockey field."

"You can't even see the hockey field from here."

"No, but they just drove past heading for there. There's nowhere else they could be going, unless someone built a doughnut shop in the night."

Ignoring the mild derision in Damien's tone, Gregory wandered over to stand beside him at the window. Sure enough, in the time it had taken him to get back to his room, someone had presumably found Yates and a cop car had already arrived, one of the two that the local force had. It must have been somewhere in the area, mused Gregory, perhaps on the hunt for an escaped animal?

From their window, realised Gregory, they had a view of the area almost all the way to the hockey pitch, the design of the building cutting off the view just at the corner. Uneasily, Gregory realised that Yates's panicked flight would have been clearly visible had anyone been watching from their room, although his final demise would have been unseen.

"Probably nothing," he said abruptly, leaving Damien where he was and heading off to the bathroom, taking a rapid, thorough shower. It would leave him with no physical trace, if indeed there were any, of his being near Yates that morning and anyway, it would have been more suspicious had he not bothered. Damien knew damn well he always showered after a run, no matter how much of an inconvenience it was.

He dried off, grabbed his boxers from where he had left them – he always brought them in with him, not really wanting to wander naked around their shared room – and emerged, ready to dress. Damien hadn't moved from the window, although he'd managed to button up his shirt.

"Getting busy out there," he said casually. "Guess it wasn't nothing after all."

Gregory pulled on his trousers, rolling his eyes. "It'll be something bloody ridiculous."

"I dunno Greg, Pasarian just came away from there looking like shit and puked into the bushes." Damien turned his head, his eyes meeting Gregory's. "Anyone'd think they'd found a corpse or something."

Gregory's expression remained the same but as he opened his mouth to reply – and he had no idea what might have come out of his mouth except sneering denials – the door burst open and Damien's other three lackeys practically fell into the room.

"Damien!" announced Sam breathlessly. "They found a body on the hockey pitch!"

"For real!" added Danny, eyes wide and excited.

"And no one's seen Yates all morning, he's gone missing!" finished Cain. "You think it's him?"

At that point, Gregory's phone started to buzz insistently.

Damien looked from the lackeys to Gregory. "Ridiculous, huh?" he said with a smirk, followed by an exaggerated sigh and a shake of his head. "Poor, poor Yates."

"You don't know it's even him," said Gregory, picking up his phone and seeing Ethan was trying to call, no doubt to share the same news.

"You might though," said Damien in a low voice, one that seemed to go unheard by the other three boys, who were whispering excitedly between themselves, but that Gregory caught perfectly well. He raised his voice, addressing the others. "Let's go find out what's going on."

The four of them left, leaving Gregory to slowly answer the call and wonder what exactly Damien was implying with _that_ statement. He barely paid attention to his conversation, instead letting his attention go to the window. If Damien had been looking out, he could very well have seen Gregory heading to the hockey pitch, or seen him return shortly after. If he decided to make trouble, it could leave Gregory with a lot of questions he preferred not to answer – and that was only if he spilled the beans. Damien's tactics tilted more toward blackmail and _that_ would be far, far worse.

But that was the least of his concerns. Another weird death, once again linked to Damien. Once was odd enough, three was beyond coincidence – and yet, there was no way they could be anything _but_ coincidence. Damien couldn't have orchestrated the accident in the gym, caused the car crash, set some wild animal on Yates. He had an alibi for all of them. Gregory realised uncomfortably that _he_ was the alibi, for two at least. Possibly for Yates as well, didn't he think he'd seen Damien last night... looking out of the window?

He didn't like where his thoughts were heading.

And there was the not-so-small fact that all the deaths so far could also be linked to _Gregory_. He had been the one fighting with Damien before Mr Morgan had died, the car could have killed him too. And as for Yates, well, someone could have seen them talking in the library the night before.

Or someone might have seen him going to the hockey pitch that morning and realise that Gregory had seen the body before it was discovered. Someone who could see from their dorm window who was going to or returning from the field. Someone who could link him, no matter how coincidentally, with this latest death.

Someone like Damien.


	5. The Writing's On The Wall

**Author Note: **As always, huge thanks to the lovely reviewers, xxSay, Aiconx, mangamoo1, Lady McNo Knuckle and let's point out the obvious (for all the awesome reviews this last week *hugs*). I hope you all like this chapter – things are starting to move on a bit now and although Damien isn't in this chapter, he'll be back with a vengeance in the next one!

**~:~**

_The writing's on the wall, it won't go away..._

**~:~**

The fallout from Yates's death was immediate and massive. A huge police hunt was launched for the animal that had killed him, to no avail. The students were told to keep well away from the woods and outdoor curfew was reduced to seven pm, much to the annoyance of the school body. But no sign of the animal ever turned up and the entire affair remained baffling.

Several students were removed from the establishment, but neither Gregory nor Damien were among them. Gregory's parents called and were superficially concerned, but he told them there was no need to alarm themselves and they sounded relieved not to have their only child suddenly foist upon them. After all, he wasn't sent to boarding school and allowed to spend every holiday with Christophe because they so desperately wanted his company. Christophe also called, sounding far more serious this time, but Gregory played the incident down and didn't tell the whole story. He had no desire to look weak in front of the mercenary.

Three weird deaths, apparently unconnected. They played on Gregory's mind, although not so much as Damien knowing something he had only so far hinted at. His room mate didn't mention it again but Gregory was hyper-aware of those frequent, speculative looks that put him on edge. It got to the point where he actually considered transferring for the rest of the year, just to get away from that atmosphere and have a little peace. But that would have been cowardly and given Damien far too much satisfaction. There were hardly even six weeks left, he could ride it out, he could cope. Especially if Damien kept up his relative silence and continued not to say anything. And anyway, there was no proof that Gregory had been anywhere near Yates that morning apart from Damien's word and no one was likely to believe him.

When Saturday rolled around, Gregory breathed a sigh of relief. A chance to get off campus and spend some time on his own, far away from Damien and from the school that seemed to get weirder and induce more paranoia by the day. He kept finding himself wondering what the next thing would be. The moment he awoke he got up and dressed, ignoring the sleeping figure of Damien, who had managed to piss Gregory off yet again by smirking all the way through Yates's memorial service the previous evening. He and the dead boy were supposed to be friends and instead, Damien looked relatively amused by the affair.

He skipped breakfast and took a walk into the local town, which was small and uninteresting but at least somewhere other than Yardale and there was no one around to harass him, or so he thought. He stopped in a Subway and had breakfast while reading the newspaper, deliberately choosing a national rather than something that might mention the memorial of the previous night. It was pleasant enough and he felt better afterwards – right up until he left the shop and realised that he was being followed.

He could sense the eyes on his back as soon as he exited but refused to acknowledge his suspicions, instead wandering apparently aimlessly through the streets. He spent a great deal of time looking into shop windows, not to check out the latest fashions but rather to see the reflections of the people around him.

His stalker was no master of covert operations. Gregory had pretty much nailed him by the second time he saw him and was sure on the fourth. It was a man of around fifty years old, greying hair, maybe an inch or so under six feet tall. He wasn't in bad shape but he certainly wasn't a fighter, nor was he used to keeping pace with a much younger man in peak condition. Gregory ascertained this when he sped up the length of one street and paused at the end to glance into another window; the man hurried to keep up and seemed out of breath once he got Gregory in his sights again. He wasn't doing a good job of being inconspicuous either, he never let Gregory out of his sights or let too much distance between them.

Gregory mused this over to himself as he strolled along, in no hurry to ditch the stalker – there wasn't much the other could do while they were out in the open like this. There were several possibilities, the first one coming to mind that he was trailing after Gregory due to some connection with that business he and Christophe had been involved in during their most recent break. But he dismissed that out of hand, the man wasn't just acting inoffensively, he clearly wasn't in the employ of anyone so ruthless. And those people had no way of tracing him anyway.

So then, a private detective? Nope, why would anyone set one of those on him? Maybe an opportune pervert – doubtful. Gregory didn't look as tough as he actually was, but he still didn't make for an easy target and this was not good snatching ground. The same went for a kidnapping, planned or otherwise, his parents were rich enough to pay a ransom, but there were richer kids and better abductees.

It roused Gregory's curiosity and he spent an hour or so pretending to be oblivious to his tail, in actuality watching the man carefully. He worked out only one more thing; he was nervous. Very nervous. He tensed visibly whenever Gregory gave a seemingly casual glance in his direction and although his expression held some kind of fierce resolve, there was fear in there too. Gregory noted all of this and just couldn't work out why this person was following him.

Eventually, he decided enough was enough. Acting furtively, he glanced around as if checking for witnesses, then reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, ducking into an alley. The moment he did so he took off running, exiting at the other end and racing around to the entrance he had entered the empty passage. As he had thought, the man had tentatively followed, looking around for any sign of the blonde but not thinking to check behind him.

Too bad.

He cleared his throat to get attention, pleased to hear the man give a small gasp as he spun around. He would have felt better with some kind of weapon, but he didn't think this man would present much of a danger to him, he was too damn nervous to shoot straight even if he had a gun, which didn't seem likely.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked in a pleasant tone.

The man shrank back for a moment, then seemed to gather his resolve. "You are the Thorne boy." It was a statement, not a question.

Gregory repressed a frown, suddenly concerned. Considering his life away from Yardale, he didn't like thinking that someone knew who he was. But he didn't want to let it show and an outright denial might be a mistake, since the man clearly knew _something_ about him.

"You have the advantage over me," he replied, neither confirming nor denying the name, but when it came to a possible stand-off, definitely lying. "You are...?"

"I am here to bring about your end, demon!"

The man reached into the pocket of his jacket and Gregory instinctively moved, ducking and covering the distance between them in seconds. Just as the man withdrew something, he brought his hand down on the arm and knocked the object out of his hand.

The man moaned in pain, but Gregory paid him little attention, staring down at the object. Not a gun, not a knife. A simple crucifix, the attached Christ staring reproachfully from a suspicious puddle on the alley floor.

As the man backed away shaking in apparent terror, Gregory gave him a quizzical look. "Um, I really don't see how that's going to help you kill me."

"Foul, accursed creature!" The man reached for a chain around his neck, showing it to Gregory in triumph. "Ha! How d'you like _them_ apples?"

"Um..." Gregory looked at the gleaming Khanda at the end of the chain. "Just fine?"

"Damn!" The man snagged another chain, this one with a Star of David. "Ha! How's _that_?"

"That's perfectly acceptable too."

"Uh, wait..." The man showed him a third chain, this one with the Islamic symbol for Allah engraved on the pendant. "This one? Does it burn yet, spawn of evil?"

Gregory shook his head. "Have you considered professional help?"

"I..." The man looked vaguely annoyed, then straightened up. "I'm not afraid of you! You may have found a way to overcome our talismans, but we know what you are Damien and there will be others after..."

"Whoa." Gregory raised his hands. "I'm not Damien."

"...Huh?"

"I'm _not_ Damien," repeated Gregory, cursing his surname for the thousandth time since the start of the term.

"But you said..."

"It's a long story." Gregory glanced at the man and scowled. A case of mistaken identity it might have been, but he really resented being taken for the person he hated most in the whole world. Plus, he really ought to make sure this man wasn't going to hurt Damien; Gregory might not like his room mate but he didn't want him to come to physical harm. Well, not often. Well okay, often. He still wasn't about to let it happen. No one was going to kill Damien unless it was him.

"So," he said in a soft voice that was clearly dangerous. "What do you want with Damien?"

The man scowled to hide his concern, taking note for the first time of Gregory's conditioning. "Are you his protector?"

"Hardly," replied Gregory dryly. "I think Damien can take care of himself and I wouldn't hurry to help him out. What, you think I'm some kind of _bodyguard_?" He laughed mockingly at the thought. "Heaven forbid."

"You have no idea how true those words are," said the man cryptically, visibly relaxing, although he still seemed wary. "You're not a friend of his then?"

"Why does it matter to you?"

The man frowned a little. "My name is Professor James Lohan, I'm an archaeologist and I study ancient civilisations."

"Fascinating. And what does this have to do with Damien?"

"This is – difficult." Lohan sighed and rubbed at his forehead wearily. "Look, can we go somewhere a little less unpleasant to talk? It's a long story."

Gregory gave a one-shouldered shrug, thinking he really should find out why a total stranger was in search of Damien, especially one who didn't know what he looked like. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to hear you out. There's a café nearby, will that be acceptable?"

Lohan nodded, retrieving his crucifix from where it had fallen. Gregory wondered vaguely if he was making a mistake, falling victim to a practical joke or some crazy man's paranoid delusions, but his curiosity was aroused. He had to know what was going on.

They went to the café, ordering drinks from a bored looking waitress and sitting at a table some distance from the counter, out of the way of the other customers. Gregory leant his elbow on the table, regarding Lohan closely. He seemed more comfortable now that he knew he wasn't in Damien's presence, but still nervous.

"You go to school with Damien Thorn." It wasn't a question.

"I suppose the uniform gave it away," said Gregory sarcastically. "We're acquainted."

"I see." Lohan added sugar to his drink, although it seemed that he was doing so for something to do with his hands rather than a desire for sweetness. "What's your opinion of him?"

"Low. What's your interest?"

"Are you familiar with the book of Revelations?"

Gregory refrained from rolling his eyes with effort. "I'd hardly call myself familiar with it, but I know its content."

"I take it you're a sceptic."

"I've seen proof of the existence of God," said Gregory, thinking back to the war. "However, I have strong doubts that He cares much about the human race." He considered what Christophe would be saying in the same situation, the image brought a faint smile to his face.

"It's not God I'm thinking about," said Lohan darkly. "It's Satan."

"Yeah, I met him once," said Gregory truthfully, hiding a smile at the man's pained expression.

"I'm sure it amuses you to mock," he said sharply. "However, this is more serious than you could ever imagine. There are dark forces at large in the world and Damien Thorn is at the centre of them."

This time, there was nothing Gregory could do to prevent himself smirking. "You're trying to tell me Damien's a Satanist? I doubt he worships anyone but himself."

To his surprise, Lohan let out a short, barking laugh. "You're incredibly astute and yet you still don't see what's right in front of you. Although, why would you? What I know defies all logic and yet it _is_ the truth."

"What truth?"

Lohan leaned forward, his voice lowered so Gregory had to strain to hear him. "Damien Thorn is the Antichrist."

Gregory regarded him with amused blue eyes before shaking his head, laughing quietly. "Yeah, of course he is. That explains everything. Damien put you up to this, didn't he? Tell him from me, nice try, but it's not exactly believable, is it? He should try something a little less ambitious next time, he stabbed a babysitter with a penknife or something."

He dropped some money on the table to pay for the drinks and rose to his feet. "You made my day slightly less dull though, so thanks for that."

"Haven't you noticed anything strange happening since Damien arrived at Yardale?" Lohan's voice was almost conversational, but the calm barely hid the underlying tension. "Fatal accidents? Unexplained fires? Animals roaming the area? It must have been going on for some time now."

Gregory's amusement faded and he gave the man a cold glare. "I hardly think it's appropriate to use other peoples misfortunes to further some ridiculous practical joke."

"This is not a joke." Lohan seemed frightened, looking pale and slightly ill. "Please, I – I need to find out what's been going on. I read about some things in the newspapers, but a lot of it was covered up and I have to know what I'm up against. Time's running out."

In spite of his apprehensions, Gregory was curious. He sat back down and raised an eyebrow. "So help me God, I'm going to regret playing along with this. What is it that you think Damien's been doing?"

Lohan offered Gregory the bag he had been carrying. "This book," he said, keeping his voice quiet. "It has the clippings from the little that made the newspapers in the last few pages."

Gregory took the book from the bag, a plain, functional scrapbook, and opened it at the back, flipping the blank pages until he got to the latest clipping, from only two days before, a write-up about Yates. Before that was a smaller piece about the car crash. And before that, a note about Mr Morgan, which had apparently only been reported on because it was so odd.

There was more from the entire school year, before Gregory and Damien had shared a room, small details that seemed nothing on their own. A shop sustaining inexplicable structural damage, a fire, a missing person. He shook his head. "This is all conjecture and coincidence None of this is connected to Damien – actually, they don't even connect to each other. Different incidents, different outcomes. I fail to see how this is anything but paranoia."

"There's more," said Lohan, gesturing to the book. "The further you go, the more there is, right from Damien's earliest childhood. Actually, there are few records from his youth, he seems to have merely appeared one day, made the news and vanished again, until he was placed into a school at twelve years old. This was _not _in the news, but he was asked to leave after the people who clashed with him met a series of unfortunate accidents. Nothing could be proven, but the pattern was there. At his next school he was more careful, but there were still too many coincidences, too much trouble. And then he arrived at Yardale and the cycle began again."

"So what?" Gregory closed the scrapbook shut with finality. "Damien's parents were careful with him, it's not unusual for people in our financial position. There are weird accidents all over the world, he can't be to blame for all of them. That he's an arse who gets expelled isn't news and it's not proof of anything. This is a ridiculous conversation."

"Look at the book!" Lohan had raised his voice slightly and quickly dropped it again, "We haven't come to this conclusion over a few strange incidents. There's more. His coming has been prophesied for centuries, and all the signs point to Yardale being the centre of something major. Young man, the apocalypse is coming, and soon."

"The apocalypse." Gregory's voice was unimpressed and slightly bored. He was finding the man's insistence annoying and the lengths Damien had gone to in order to play this little joke were almost freaky. He'd known Damien wasn't the most stable person, but why the hell set up something like this?

"The end of everything has been foretold since biblical times," said Lohan, his eyes dark and serious and slightly desperate. "The same date keeps showing up. The day the Antichrist reaches adulthood is the day he inherits the earth and ushers in a thousand years of darkness. Time is running out and he turns eighteen in just a few short days..."

Gregory leaned back in his seat and laughed. "Now I know your game. You're trying to get me to freak out because Damien's birthday is in less than a week. Get nervous and paranoid and – and what? Maybe Damien hopes I'll do something to get myself kicked out of school. Or perhaps he's trying to intimidate me, it wouldn't be the first time, not that it's ever worked before. And it won't work now. I'm through giving you any more of my time."

He put his hands on the table to push himself from his seat and Lohan reached out with surprising speed and put a hand over his wrist. Gregory looked into the man's face, which was a mask of fear. If he was acting, he was damned good at it.

"I'm giving you warning boy, so that you can _run_. Not that it'll do you any good in the long run, but you can maybe put your affairs in order or see your loved ones before everything goes quite literally to Hell. Damien Thorn _is_ the Antichrist, he's _evil_ and your denials will not change that!"

"And you _just happened_ to run into me and tell me all this?" Gregory glanced at the hand over his but didn't shake it off right away. "I don't believe that for a moment."

"My research told me that you were Thorn," replied Lohan hoarsely. "Even though you don't look like the paintings, I thought it could be a disguise. And I have to tell people, warn people – although no one believes me. They refuse to see the evidence of their own eyes, because it's not _logical_. But I'm the only one of us left and I'm telling you, _this is the truth_."

"This is ridiculous." Gregory shook the hand off and stared at Lohan. "I mean it. This is the biggest pile of steaming bullshit I've ever listened to. You seriously need professional help. I'm not listening to another word."

"Other people have discovered the truth," said Lohan urgently. "Several of us gathered here in the hopes of stopping him. They're all dead now, save for me. A heart attack, a suicide. Several years ago, another man tried to dispose of him and died before he could act, a boiler explosion. His daughter came here to try to help, befriended one of Damien's allies and learned what she could before making an attempt on his life. Now she too is dead. Everyone who stands against him is killed and there are only _days_ until he rises! Before that can happen, the Antichrist _must_ be destroyed!"

"Damien put you up to this," snapped Gregory. "And you're as sick as he is, for going along with it."

He rose, leaving the table and the café, pausing outside the door for a moment. He was slightly unnerved. Although the most likely probability was that Damien was trying to play some stupid trick on him, Lohan hadn't appeared to be making a joke.

And there was all the evidence, in black and white on the pages of Lohan's scrap book. Those things were facts. And there were stories behind those facts that the Professor had no knowledge of, that the boy in the accident had been one of Damien's little gang group until the day before he met his fate, that the teacher killed had touched Damien moments before his death. In spite of what Gregory had said, all the incidents could be linked back to Damien Thorn.

But that was just foolish, the links were too tenuous. Most of them could just as easily be linked back to himself. Gregory began to wish he hadn't slammed the scrap book closed so quickly, that he had seen some of the earlier pages. Then he scolded himself; all that would have done was encourage the other man and suggest he was giving the thought that Damien was the Antichrist head space. And as much as Gregory disliked Damien, that thought didn't deserve any credence.

_Time is running out – he turns eighteen in just a few short days..._

But Damien's reluctance to think about life after eighteen was either not wanting to accept being an adult, or possibly he had been planning this stunt since the start of term, planting the seeds in Gregory's mind.

Gregory started down the street, intending to get back to the school. He'd wasted enough time on this nonsense, and he intended to tell Damien that his little scheme hadn't worked. He paused at the curb, ready to cross over, when he heard the shout.

"Boy, wait!"

He looked over and sighed. Lohan was striding toward him, waving his arm. Not willing to wait to cross and give the man time to catch him up, he began walking again, watching the traffic to see when he could dart between the cars and leave Lohan behind.

"I'm telling the truth!" Lohan's voice was desperate, the strained tones of the paranoiac left pleading for someone to take him seriously. Gregory looked over the oncoming traffic, deciding there was space to cross right after the truck rumbling down the road.

"He's dangerous!" Lohan shouted loudly enough to attract the attention of a couple of passers-by, who took sneaky, sidelong glances and stepped up their pace, hoping to get away from the crazy man. "You mustn't approach him, you..."

Gregory threw a glance over his shoulder and turned forward again to watch where he was walking, stopping dead as a large, black bird swooped down, skimming over his head close enough so Gregory could feel the breeze as it passed. He ducked a little, although there was no need, the bird missed him and continued its path.

Turning to watch its flight, Gregory saw the bird draw its claws up and land directly in Lohan's face.

Lohan screamed in shock and pain, dropping the bag with the scrapbook and reaching up to beat at the bird. It cawed loudly but didn't move, flapping its wings viciously and darting its head forward. Lohan's shock gave over entirely to pain and he started trying to get away from the bird, taking several steps backward.

Gregory realised what was going to happen and jolted from his shocked paralysis, taking several steps forward too late.

Three things happened almost at once.

The bird suddenly lost interest and took flight, heading rapidly away.

The sudden loss of the birds weight made Lohan lose balance. Gregory could see his face now, unhidden by the bird, and could see the deep scratches from its talons, bloodied wounds left by the beak. He had some confused, ignored thought about rabies shots.

Lohan slipped off the kerb at the same moment the truck Gregory had noticed thundered by. It struck him dead bang and took him with it. The driver hit the brakes and the vehicle skidded sideways, crashing into a street lamp and sending people running screaming from its path.

A crumpled, bloodied, broken figure fell into the centre of the road, projected by the force of the truck. Gregory wasn't squeamish and he'd seen death up close and personal before, but he couldn't help the shiver of revulsion that ran through him. That had just been – fucked up.

The street was an exercise in chaos, people screaming, some running from the scene, others toward the corpse in the road or to check on the truck driver. Unaware of what he was going to do until the moment he did it, Gregory walked over to Lohan's discarded bag and picked it up, looking over at the man and knowing there was nothing more that could be done for him.

Instead, he did as any good mercenary would do, taking the haul and leaving the scene before he could be noticed.


	6. If You Can Take It

**Author Note: **My eternal thanks to let's point out the obvious, G. Wings, Aiconx and super manako sohma for the reviews! They are as always, much appreciated.

This chapter was one of the earliest I wrote, but for some obscure reason, I wrote it backwards and left out a couple of important parts. Then I turned it forward and fiddled with it for bloody ages and although I'm not happy with it, I'm getting the sneaking suspicion that I never will be. So, for better or worse, here it is! I hope you enjoy it and if you do, let me know.

~:~

_It's all about control and if you can take it..._

_~:~_

There weren't exactly many safe spots to check out the book; the library seemed a bad idea and Gregory wasn't sure if he would have been able to get away without having someone looking over his shoulder. He could have waited until the morning or taken it into the town, but even there wasn't ideal, still too may students wandering around for secrecy. And he didn't want to wait, he had the irresistible urge to know _now_.

The woods surrounding the school were strictly off limits and cordoned off, but such things were of no consequence to Gregory, other students may struggle to enter the dark woods undetected, but Gregory sneaked in with ease, wandering some distance in before finding a secluded area that offered plenty of cover should any other student have managed to creep in. It was late afternoon and the trees filtered out the sun quite a lot, but his phone gave him enough light to read by.

What he found was disturbing.

He started at the beginning of the book and widened his eyes as he looked at the first article, although in retrospect, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. He had after all lived in that town for a time and knew from experience that all strangeness eventually gravitated to it.

It was a small piece from the Denver Times, reporting on a fight held in the small nearby town of South Park between two boxers labelled as Jesus and Satan. The article had an amused overall tone, as if some great practical joke had been played. Satan had apparently thrown the fight and won a huge pay day, much to the outrage of local citizens. There was a small picture showing what looked like some oversized muscle man with horns – the small, black and white picture made getting many more details hard, but Gregory had seen him once before – and there was a small boy standing next to him, the malevolence in his face evident in spite of the poor quality. Gregory narrowed his eyes. It had to have been almost ten years ago, but that expression was perfectly familiar, he had to look at it every damn day. Damien, as a child.

That small exposure though seemed to be the only time Damien had advertised himself as – well, what Lohan claimed he really was. The next article was was dated two years later, a class teacher dying while on a field trip with a class of ten year olds, mysteriously falling from a ledge. No other clues were given. Another small write-up of a mysterious death, this one a thirteen year old girl being treated as something of a medical wonder after an embolism had shockingly made her eyes burst from her head. Other seemingly unrelated articles about deaths, injuries, disappearances. There seemed to be no common factor save for their strangeness but Gregory just bet he knew what the common feature was.

As well as the articles were other things he didn't quite know how to take. Computer printouts of photographs that were grainy and difficult to make out. There were what appeared to be wall paintings of a man with other symbols around him, and although the painting looked only passingly like Damien, Gregory recognised one of the carvings on it; the symbol that Yates drew for him. The one that Damien had on his head.

Another computer printout, this one an e-mail. It was dated some three weeks before and Gregory read it with his brow creased into a frown. Of all the odd things in the scrapbook, this was the only thing that had any kind of relevance to the situation and it didn't mention Damien at all.

_The Memorial Museum, as you know, is the closest one to Yardale and we arranged that the daggers of Megiddo would be loaned to the facility from the Oriental Institute of Chicago for a period encompassing July through September. These are considered interesting examples of Israeli weaponry circa 600BC, but are of little monetary value. Excavated in 1903 from the ruins of the city of Megiddo, the only thing to differentiate these from other examples of the time is the story that circulates about these tools; it was said in several texts that seven daggers were lost when the city fell and that they were the only tools that could prevent the ascension of the Antichrist and the following Armageddon (the word Armageddon is actually derived from Megiddo, as you know). The location and number of the daggers caused the speculation that these were indeed the fabled daggers, but there is no actual proof of that._

_That we have found a legitimate reason for the daggers to be here when the boy reaches adulthood strikes me as more than coincidence, the Oriental Institute is not known to be especially generous with its loans. They will still be under lock and key of course. And the further thought occurs, this will not be a secret, since the story of the daggers is a common enough one and there will be some bureaucracy, not to mention they are intended for a display. I imagine that we will not be the only people keeping a close eye on the artefacts – if indeed, they mean anything at all. We have no proof, only hope. And let's be honest here, hope is the only thing we actually have in this situation. Sometimes, it seems like we're punching at shadows and can't change a thing._

Gregory frowned, then turned back to the book, flipping toward the back. The mail was sent from the curator of the local Memorial museum, Gregory had been on enough field trips there to be able to imagine the location and he thought he recalled – yes, there. A small snippet from the local paper, the curator found dead outside the Museum with the keys still in his hand, the building locked up. Suspected heart attack.

Frown deepening, Gregory went onto the internet on his phone and did a search on the daggers mentioned. There wasn't much, the story might not be a secret but nor did anyone care a great deal either. Legend said that the Antichrist could be killed only by seven daggers, the daggers of Megiddo, driven into his body in a crucifix formation. No less would do, the first would kill his human form but it was the others that would kill off his soul, such as it was.

"This is ridiculous," said Gregory under his breath, erasing the search from the memory and logging off. "I don't buy this for a second."

But – it was a lot of circumstantial events and a lot of corroborating evidence. The only problem being that it didn't _prove_ anything. It was compelling, but really, was he going to believe that he was rooming with the Son of Satan?

He believed it.

There were too many coincidences. After a while, the things that could be explained away on their own added up until there was just too much to disclaim. To refuse to believe with so much knowledge wasn't rationalism, but wilful blindness. And Gregory might search for the logical, but he was all too aware that the darkness existed. He shook his head, if only Lohan hadn't been killed. There was so much of this Armageddon shit he had no idea about, it was all so vague in his mind and he doubted he had time to learn Biblical prophecies... certainly not in the privacy of his own room, that was for sure.

Of course, he knew one person who knew all kinds of things about the bible and the book of Revelations. He'd been fed it from birth, not that he'd be happy to discuss it, but just maybe Gregory would be able to get things straight in his mind.

He dialled out on his phone, unable to help the smile that touched his lips even in spite of the circumstances when he heard that voice. "_Oui, _what's up?"

"I could really do with some help with my schoolwork."

There was a long pause and Gregory imagined Christophe frowning, completely at a loss. But he had no intention of telling Christophe what was really going on. It sounded insane even to his own ears, over the phone to the mercenary, it would sound as if he'd had some kind of breakdown.

"What schoolwork?" asked Christophe eventually. "You 'aven't asked for 'elp with French since you were eleven."

Nor had he, because Gregory disliked people knowing that he might need any kind of help, particularly Christophe. He wanted Christophe to think he was infallible. But he thought he could be excused not knowing this kind of thing. Actually, Christophe would probably prefer that he was in the dark about it.

"Not French, theology. More specifically, I'm doing a paper on the book of Revelations and the coming of the Antichrist." Gregory fully intended to pay attention and listen when Christophe told him whatever information might be relevant, but the mere mention of the bible had sent him into a rant. Gregory raised his eyebrows and bit his lip to stop laughing as he heard a long stream of curses in both French and English, followed by a diatribe about God, further followed by disgusted mutterings about why anyone would voluntarily fill their heads with the words from the bible. At a time when he was questioning his own thinking and the behaviour of everyone around him and the future of the entire world, Gregory was still reduced to affectionate smiles and warm thoughts at the sound of the Mole raging at the world. He despaired of his own behaviour and yet, he seemed powerless to do anything about it.

Christophe had been brought up by his obsessively religious mother and even though Gregory had never met anyone as anti-God as the Frenchman (until now, a part of his mind amended), he did have a surprisingly vast knowledge of biblical events – especially the hell-fire and brimstone stuff that his mother had seemed to think would scare him into obedience.

The Mole ceased his rant and Gregory took the opportunity to jump in. "Yes, I've heard that from you a time or two before. Can you give me some information?"

Christophe sighed wearily. "Since when 'ave I ever been able to deny you anything? What do you wish to know?"

For a second, Gregory was so startled that he completely forgot what he'd called for. A grin broke across his face and his cheeks felt slightly warm – was Christophe suggesting something to him? Because that was what it sounded like... and then he mentally shook himself. He was behaving like a love-sick twelve year old girl and it was _not_ the time, not now.

"Gregory?"

"Um, yes, Revelations." Gregory determinedly brought his mind back to the matter at hand. "What exactly is supposed to happen when the Antichrist reveals himself?"

"I 'ardly recall." There was a slight pause and Gregory could see Christophe in his mind, the phone against his ear, ever-present cigarette between his lips, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Zere will be a series of natural disasters, ze world will be shaken into new and interesting shapes and 'e will take power over ze earth. Everyone on ze earth will suffer 'orrible, unspeakable torment and zis will last for a long time – ten thousand years, I think I remember, but I might be wrong. And zen Jesus strolls in and puts everything right and ze Antichrist is killed. All boolsheet."

"Total bullshit," agreed Gregory, although his heart was pounding rapidly. "Are there any signs of the Antichrist's imminent arrival?"

There is another pause and for a moment, Gregory thought Christophe was working out the meaning of 'imminent'. But when he spoke, his voice was filled with apparent curiosity and underlying suspicion. "Zis is for some school project? Since when do you study religion?"

"Extra credit," lied Gregory easily.

"Fucking overachiever."

"You know it. Signs of the Antichrist?"

"Sheet, uh... zere will be an upsurge in war, unrest and natural disasters. Not as bad as when 'e shows up, but bad enough. Zat's all I remember."

"The rest will no doubt be in the book," said Gregory, backing up his lie about schoolwork a little more. "Did your theological teachings give you any more insight as to the Antichrist?"

"Just zat 'e 'as abilities zat 'umans don't," said Christophe promptly, chuckling. "Zat animals recognise 'im for what 'e is and either serve 'im or run screaming. Zat 'e as demonic abilities and 'e can charm and deceive people into serving 'im. I once said to my muzzer zat I wished _I _was ze Antichrist. She _freaked_."

"I bet." Gregory took note of all of this with a frown. How much of it fitted Damien? Well, there was the animal attack on Yates, still unexplained. And that weird level of devotion the boy had shown to him even when he'd known something was going to happen to him. And the other things that Gregory had seen for himself that simply could not be explained. "Well, thank you for the details. That should give me an edge over the other students."

"Anytime." There was another pause. "School lets out at ze end of ze month, _oui_?"

"That's right." _One way or the other,_ Gregory thought to himself grimly.

"If you come 'ere instead of to where ever ze fuck your parents are at ze moment, zen zere may be some work for both of us."

"How could I pass that up?" asked Gregory wryly, although there was nothing he'd like better than to be with Christophe, on a mission or otherwise. "I'll be there. But I'll call before that I'm sure."

They said their farewells and Gregory terminated the call thoughtfully. The end of the world, Lohan had said, the start of the reign of the Antichrist. And Christophe had mentioned the fall of mankind, the reshaping of the world, the suffering of humanity. But did he really believe all of that was going to happen in just a few days? He supposed he had to, if he really thought that Damien was who the signs pointed to him being. But he was still only just getting his head around finding out about Damien, it would take him time to accept the rest of it... only from the sound, time was something he didn't have. Not even a week.

Trying to make sense of it all, he turned back to the scrapbook, going over it more slowly, using it as something to train his eyes on while his mind worked. The sky got darker as the evening got later, and he flipped open his phone so the light made it easier for him to see the clippings. He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he failed to realise just how much time had gone past, lighting a cigarette whenever he remembered and barely noticing as he smoked them, until he heard a sound nearby, making his head shoot up. It was barely audible but somehow sly, meant to be heard.

Gregory placed the book at his side and stood up slowly, not wanting to give the alarm if he had not been seen, at the ready in case of attack. He waited tensely and was dismayed but unsurprised when Damien stepped into view. Damien stood directly in front of Gregory, the shadows not quite hiding the smirk on his face. He too was wearing the Yardale uniform, but unlike Gregory, he had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and removed his tie, loosened a couple of buttons at his neck. A slow grin spread across his face as Gregory looked distinctly underwhelmed to see him, but his eyes remained sharply focused on the blonde. "What are you doing, hiding out in the woods at this time?"

"Trying to get some peace," replied Gregory cordially, flicking away the end of his cigarette. "Take the hint."

"Smoking's a sign of weakness y'know," said Damien in a low, satisfied voice.

"And gloating's a sign of low self image," replied Gregory, sounding superficially bored. "What are you doing here?"

Damien faked surprise. "I was just out for a walk, thought you could use the company." His gaze dropped to the undergrowth where Gregory had placed the book and then back up to Gregory's face. "What's this? The apocalypse hunters pathetic little scrapbook?"

"Good eyes," said Gregory, a little shaken. There was barely any light penetrating the woods and the book was in total shadow, partially hidden by the weeds. There was no way that Damien could have known what it was, even if he had seen it before, which didn't seem likely.

But he had pinpointed what it was immediately, which meant he _did_ know. And he was playing with Gregory.

"You have _no_ idea," said Damien, slightly mockingly, taking a few steps toward Gregory. "I didn't know you had an – interest in bible prophecies."

Gregory's eyes narrowed. Damien knew exactly what had aroused Gregory's sudden interest in the subject. "This one hits close to home."

"I just bet," said Damien, expression almost amused. "I heard you were talking to some guy in town, just before he fell under the wheels of a truck. People have a nasty habit of dying around you Greg."

"Around _me_!" Gregory glared at Damien at the insinuation, then paused. "How the hell do you know who I talk to? Do you follow me around or something?"

"I was here all day, as plenty of witnesses will tell you." Damien folded his arms casually. "I just happen to know a lot of people and hear a lot of things." His smile grew slightly mocking. "A lot of people tell me what they think I should hear, there isn't really anywhere you can go that I can't find out what you're doing. Where there are people, I have eyes."

Gregory seemed at a loss for words and Damien smirked, although his eyes were cold. "So, you know all about me?" His words dripped in sarcasm, as if the idea was too ridiculous to be believed, but there was a clear threat beneath that. "Did your brand-new dead friend tell you who my father is? About my destiny?"

Gregory nodded, refusing to allow himself to be intimidated, although Damien was close enough to him so he could see those eyes clearly. Eyes that were usually almost black, but currently seemed to reflect back red.

Damien shrugged. "Well, at least you're bright enough to realise the truth. Even if it was funny to see you completely clueless. Trying to rationalise what you saw, because the truth was just too unbelievable."

He laughed with chilling good humour. "Those losers managed to work out who I was and track me this far, but they really had no idea. None of them ever did, anyone who thought they knew about the apocalypse was wrong. It's going to be such _fun_ Greg. The land will fall into the sea and volcanoes will rise in their place. The oceans will boil and the smoke and ash will block out the sun and steal the air. No one will be spared – it's just a matter of how much they suffer before they succumb. And I'll be walking through it all. There's no mercy Greg, nothing to hope for. There's only me."

Damien's eyes had grown distant while he spoke, his voice gradually grew more monotone, devoid of emotion. Like it was something that he'd said so many times before that the meaning had been sucked from the message. Gregory gave him a thoughtful stare, wondering just how much of his own spiel Damien actually believed.

And then Damien's eyes refocused and he pressed the advantage. "There are people who know fighting me is futile and have proven useful to me. More than you can imagine. It's won them a certain amount of consideration and leniency once I take my place. Maybe you should consider becoming one of them. Becoming one of the followers..."

"Like Yates?" Gregory's voice was sharp. "I don't think so. I'm not going to cower in front of you, so get that thought out of your mind right now."

The image of Gregory cowering made Damien smile. That was something he'd very much like to see. "Soon, you won't have a choice. Why not make it easy on yourself? The world will burn no matter what resistance you show."

"And that's what you've always wanted I suppose," replied Gregory, eyes flashing defiance. "To rule a world of fear and fire..."

Damien flinched almost imperceptibly but grinned. "Of course that's what I want. And it's what I'm going to get. It's been foretold for millennia and you're only a man. You can't stop it."

"And neither can you." Gregory leaned back and stuffed his hands in his pockets, a scornful smirk on his face, taking a chance on his instincts. "That's why you're really doing this. Because you're not powerful enough to do anything else, so you make it sound like you actually _want_ this great and terrible destiny. And if you stood up against it, fate would crush you under it's wheels. Because let's face it Damien, you're just not – that – strong."

Damien closed the gap between them, resting a hand on the tree behind Gregory and getting into his face. He had a couple of inches on the other boy and was clearly trying to intimidate him, causing Gregory to straighten up and stare him directly in the face. "Oh, I _am_ that strong. And there's not a thing you can do about it, so what are you gonna do now?"

Gregory didn't react to the implied threat, showing no fear although he was aware of his increased heart rate. "I intend to stop you."

Damien's laugh was low, unpleasant and filled with malice. "This is destiny. You can't stop it. _I_ can't stop it. It's unavoidable. And it's not long now."

Letting his eyebrow raise, Gregory considered Damien's words. "_You_ can't stop it? Have you even tried?"

In spite of the fire reflected in Damien's eyes, his gaze was cold. "This shit again. Why would I want to? It's my time."

Gregory snorted. "You don't seem to pleased about it. Face it Damien, you're too chickenshit to stand up for what you want, you always have been. You ponce around like you're about to inherit the earth, but in reality you aren't that sure. Are you?"

Damien didn't drop his gaze, but he drew back slightly, suspicious of the lack of concern in the other boy. "I want to know what you're planning," he said coldly.

Gregory's lips quirked into a disdainful smirk. "Why do you care what I'm planning? Are you worried?"

"No," replied Damien, perhaps a touch too quickly. "I just don't want to have to kill you. It's going to be too much fun to see the look on your face, afterwards."

"Always assuming you're able to create an aftermath," replied Gregory calmly. "You might be stopped."

Damien gave a short laugh, reaching a hand up to play with Gregory's tie. "Oh? By you? You know how?"

Gregory made no move to stop Damien, nor did he reply, merely glaring at the other boy.

"Didn't think so." Damien rested his weight on the hand against the tree behind Gregory, pulling the blonde forward by his tie and pressing his lips to Gregory's in a slow, passionate kiss.

Gregory froze, completely taken by surprise. He had expected intimidation, perhaps some kind of preventative measure by the Antichrist to stop him acting. He had been ready for that – but not for _this_. It had to be Damien messing with his mind somehow, trying to twist their mutual hatred into something else, stopping him by getting him on his side.

But it was affecting him somehow, because after his initial inaction, Gregory found himself responding, kissing Damien back just as passionately. Gregory's hand rose and pressed against Damien's chest, put he didn't push the other boy away. Their mouths clashed, every bout of anger they'd indulged in fuelled into the action, not so much affection or desire as it was war, both of them trying to come out dominant.

Damien drew away first, releasing Gregory's tie and taking a step back, his breathing unsteady, head angled down but his eyes resting on Gregory's face. "Five days until my eighteenth Greg. Gonna be quite a party."

"Unless someone crashes," replied Gregory unsteadily, trying to work out what the hell had just happened. Had he _really_ just allowed Damien to kiss him – and reciprocated rather than push him away? That was – well, that was insane. Damien was getting into his mind and driving him out of it.

Damien looked as if he were about to say something else, then thought better of it and turned to leave. However, he couldn't resist one last parting shot, looking back over his shoulder at Gregory.

"Good luck getting back before curfew," he said maliciously and vanished into the darkness.

Gregory glanced at his watch and cursed, glaring into the direction Damien had vanished in. "I hate you," he growled under his breath. "I really, really hate you."

But his mind was a swirling vortex of confusion as he picked up the book and hurried back toward the main building of the school. He really didn't know what Damien thought he was playing at, but judging by the look in those red eyes after they broke apart, Damien wasn't too sure either. One thing was for sure, he had to be on his guard. The people who stood against Damien tended to have sudden, nasty accidents. And he had to hide the book somewhere fast.

He had to pass the dorm-masters study on the way back to his room and another glance at his watch told him the man would be doing his rounds, making sure that everyone was safely in their own rooms. Quickly, he shoved open the door to the study and placed the book behind a slightly dusty row of textbooks on the lowest shelf of the bookcase. They barely seemed displaced from close up, from a distance the difference was unnoticeable and it seemed as if they were rarely if ever removed from the shelf. Not ideal, but the best he could hope for in the circumstances.

~:~:~

Damien returned to the shared room with a lot on his mind. Gregory was front and centre of those thoughts. Again.

When he had started Yardale and gotten a handle on the other students, he had known right away that he wasn't about to be impressing or befriending the British boy. Gregory was a good enough student not to worry about Damien's casual intellect, already the best all-round sportsman in the school without a fondness for any topic or activity in particular. He didn't seek to be friends with everyone and seemed secure enough in himself not to emulate traits picked up from other people. Damien would have dismissed him as someone not worth spending the time on – except for the coincidence of the names. He knew that at soon as the school was able to arrange it, the two of them would be thrown together. A part of his deliberate antagonism toward Gregory had been an attempt to avoid that scenario, most of the students walked around oblivious but Gregory was too damn smart for his own good. The last thing he needed was some too-bright student picking up on his activities.

He'd quickly learned that their animosity wasn't about to change the school policy on organising the students and by that point he'd already earned Gregory's ire, so he'd decided to keep playing the game, as a distraction if nothing else. And there was the added bonus that Gregory wasn't used to having anything but total control of his emotions, if he disliked Damien so intensely that he couldn't see straight, then maybe he would dismiss anything out of the ordinary as his own prejudice coming into play. And that would just make him more furious.

And Damien rather enjoyed that he could provoke such a reaction in the blonde. He would bet that no one else could rouse that strength of emotion from him.

It was while he was observing Gregory's behaviour for signs of any weakness he could exploit that he realised he wasn't the only person who was hiding something. There was nothing overt that triggered Damien's alarm bells, but a lot of small things that didn't quite add up, that made him think Gregory might not be just another spoiled rich overachiever.

He was secretive that was one thing. No eighteen year old liked having their private things pried into and that was a good enough reason for Damien to do so at the earliest opportunity. But there were no personal mementos of anything in Gregory's things, no letters, no pictures. His phone had a longish list of contacts, all in some form of maddening code that Damien couldn't decipher, he erased his caller records after ever single call made or received and he didn't save texts, not even jokes. It was the same story on his laptop, no favourite internet sites, browser history deleted every time without fail. It was all ridiculously over-cautious.

He spent too long training, that was another thing. No teenager did that purely for reasons of vanity, no matter how dedicated,. There was a fully equip gym that he used daily without fail and he usually went running every morning too. But although he was awesomely fit, he didn't seem to have much interest in sports and it was over the top just for health reasons – and if he was such a health nut, the cigarettes wouldn't have come into the picture. And then there were the scars, one on his arm, another on his thigh, a third on his chest. He had once heard Gregory explain them away as the result of a childhood accident, but it didn't ring true. The scar tissue would have been broken and further faded had Gregory done much growing since he got them.

And there were the small, throwaway comments, the dispassionate way he had responded to the teachers accident and the military ease which he'd taken control of the situation afterwards. The way he had found Yates dead and his first response had been to cover his tracks.

The computer records had continued this secrecy, but that Gregory had spent time in South Park raised another red flag. That he had been there then, when the world had trembled on the brink of being taken over by Satan, was bad enough. That he was here now, when once again the future of humanity was under threat by Damien himself – no, he didn't believe that was a coincidence.

Damien had known all along that Gregory was going to be trouble.

But _this_ was... well, something he hadn't been expecting. He had come to think of Gregory as logical and pragmatic, not given to superstitious or religious beliefs in spite of the crucifix he had always worn until it mysteriously vanished, and that had suited him just fine. If Gregory was searching for the rational explanation, he wouldn't see the real one that was right in front of him. Only somehow, he had. And more than that, he'd found all the information that told the story of Damien's true origins, coincidental but compelling proof. Which meant either he'd gone looking for it – or it had been pressed on him. A chance like that _wasn't_ chance, it was more commonly known as fate.

Gregory Thorne had secrets, there was more to him than there appeared to be, he was forced to be around Damien all the time – and he knew the truth. Damien didn't believe that was chance. There was something else at work, the same something that had led him to Yardale at the time his own destiny was about to unfold.

He was beginning to grow concerned that Gregory could be there to stop him. Even though Gregory had known nothing of Damien when he arrived at Yardale, even after they had begun sharing a room – and Damien was convinced this was the case – the blonde could be being manipulated by other forces, the same ones that had moved Damien all his life. Or their opposites.

But none of that explained what he had done out in the woods.

Damien scowled darkly. He'd wanted to intimidate Gregory, scare him a little. He'd be so much easier to deal with that way. But instead of backing down, Gregory had challenged him and Damien had found that – well, exciting. Even those who knew nothing of what he was didn't challenge him. It had been a long time since anyone had stood up to him and he hadn't had a plan... and he was certain that any plan he would have made wouldn't have involved a kiss. He didn't know what had been going through his mind at the time, if it had been some jumbled idea of winning Greg over to his side, but it hadn't worked if it had been, nor would Damien have expected it to.

Then again, he wouldn't have expected Gregory to respond either. If Damien's actions had been about challenging Gregory, unnerving him, then Gregory's had been about proving that Damien couldn't get to him; that there was no challenge Damien could throw down that Gregory couldn't meet.

It was rare that Damien was at a loss for what to do, but this was one of those times. Gregory was a threat, he had as good as admitted he was planning to oppose Damien. The sensible thing to do would be to get rid of him before he could do anything. But Damien found the idea of killing Greg off unappealing; he could tell himself it was because something happening to Gregory so soon after Yates's unfortunate accident would bring him under suspicion again but it was a hollow excuse. In reality, he was intrigued. He wanted to know exactly what Gregory would do and how far he could push him. It could be fun to see his feeble attempts to avert the inevitable.

And it wasn't as if Gregory could actually stop him. Which was fine by Damien, because he didn't want to be stopped. Not at all.

Damien dropped onto the bed, folding his hands behind his head and wondering what Gregory might have in mind. He suspected the boy had no plan as yet, because he hadn't made any move to act and Gregory was the type to want things done as soon as possible rather than wait for the dramatic moment. But with five days until his birthday, he would be coming up with a plan soon. It didn't really matter what it was though, Damien could bruise and bleed but he couldn't be killed by normal means. That he could be injured was mere camouflage so he could pass as more human; had the car that tried to mow him down been successful, there would have been talk about how fortunate Damien was not to have been killed, barely even hurt much. To the best of Damien's knowledge, there was only one way in which he could be dispatched before his eighteenth and_ after _that, there was no way at all...

Gregory walked into the room, shooting Damien a look of disgust that only just hid the confusion beneath. Damien chuckled. "And you made it back three minutes before Neff checks on us. Well done."

"Oh fuck off."

"You look all flushed," added Damien slyly. "As if you've been up to no good in the woods."

Gregory glared. "Never mention that again," he growled, grabbing his sweats from the drawer. "And keep your hands to yourself in future."

"You mean you're actually sleeping in here?" Damien raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk on his face. "You're not afraid I'll take the chance to dispose of you, since you're aware of my little secret?"

"Worried?" Gregory snorted. "Hardly."

Damien tried to hide his confusion but must not have done a good job because Gregory looked over at him and smirked. ""If you want rid of me, I can't stop you. But you won't do anything while everyone knows it's just the two of us in here. You'd wait until there were witnesses or you had an alibi. Otherwise, you might draw suspicion to yourself and right now, you don't want that. The way I see it, being alone in here with you is the safest place for me."

Damien scowled blackly and Gregory laughed. "There's already been enough excitement around you lately, enough so that church agencies are taking notice. But by all means, attract more attention. Maybe then one of them will off you and save me the job."

"No one's going to kill me." Damien glared at Gregory with cold fury. "The apocalypse is going to happen Greg."

"No." Gregory met Damien's eyes and if he was afraid, he hid it well. "It won't."


	7. Kill Me While I'm Sleeping

**Author Note: **My thanks as ever to the lovely reviewers: G. Wings, let's point out the obvious, Bethany C. MacKenzie (I have read Good Omens – I'm an obsessive Pratchett fan and I love that book!), Aiconx and xxSay! And also to Plumbumchicky for the PM! I hope you enjoy this chapter, please let me know. In some ways, this has been a tough story to write, but never less than fun. Oh! And chapter 6 had 6616 words... which made me ridiculously happy, considering who it's about.

I'm planning to put out another story sometime in the next couple of days – I never usually overlap stories, so this is something of a first. It's completely different from WHY – for a start, none of the characters in either story is mentioned in the other, nothing supernatural in it, no fight scenes. Although obviously, it's still slash! It's Ike-centric and right now, I'm trying to find a title. I hope you'll check it out when it does get posted.

_~:~_

_I could bury you alive but you might crawl out with a knife and kill me while I'm sleeping..._

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The museum was off the main street, set back from the road by a few metres to show tasteful trees, a water feature and a seating area in front of it. It wasn't a large place, not really more than an afterthought in the town, comprising of two stories of displays and a third for storage. Most of the relics were historically interesting but not especially valuable, too common to be more than mere curios. Save for the new exhibit, which was obscure and unlikely to attract much attention from potential robbers. At least in theory.

Gregory eyed the museum, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and pitching it aside. There was high security, cameras, alarms – but no guard. The place was too small and its contents not valuable enough to be considered much of a threat from thieves.

Too bad for them.

With black combats and a black hoodie obscuring his face, generic rucksack slung casually over his shoulder, he could have been any teen in any town. He had counted on that during the journey and he was counting on it when he made good his escape. He might not be used to doing this sort of thing alone, but he _could _do it. He had to.

He had not been comfortable sleeping in the same room as Damien, but he'd had a point to prove and damned if he was going to show any kind of intimidation. So he'd stayed the whole night there on a long version of the combat nap, ready to spring awake at the slightest sound. He had to wonder if that was the reason Damien had slept restlessly – as if he'd done it on purpose so Gregory would spend the next day tired. It hadn't worked so well if he had, Gregory was too hopped up on adrenaline to feel anything but wakeful. The entire day at school had consisted of Damien giving sly smirks to counter Gregory's cold glares, neither of them speaking at all. And that night, as soon as Gregory was relatively sure that Damien was sleeping, he had slipped from their room. It wasn't the first time he had done so, but it was the first time he'd had this much to lose. His destination had been the museum from the start, he _needed_ to do something, to act, and this was the only lead he had.

It was a matter of moments before he found the security pad allowing access to the building from the rear, a few more before his minute computer disabled the locks and alarms. He let himself in, closing the door behind him and carefully checking out the cameras. There were several of them, but he would deal with that when he got to the main security room. As an extra precaution, he avoided them as much as possible, trusting the map in his memory to lead him to the security area.

This part of the museum was off limits to the public as a rule, a long corridor from the rear door running the outside wall, the other side featuring a bathroom, utility room and a separate boiler room. There was a left turn at the far end and Gregory took it, this the corridor leading to the main museum at the far end. It also housed the entrances to the staffroom, office and the place he was looking for, the security centre.

The room was smallish, showing views from each camera on a number of screens. He flicked the button to stop the cameras recording and found the discs that had been recording that night – the ones that showed him entering – and removed them, as an afterthought snagging the entire weeks worth of footage. He would show up only on that days, but it might just throw off the cops, make them think whomever had took the daggers had been casing out the building for longer. And there would be no prints of course, he was wearing gloves.

The details taken care of, Gregory headed into the main section of the building. The foyer, which would usually be accessed from the double doors at the front of the building, was a wide space with display cases around the side and a marble statue in the centre. A wide staircase led up, the landing encircling half the room from above and leading to the upstairs rooms beyond. During opening hours, it was grand, opulent, light and pleasant. In the darkness, it was like a scene from Resident Evil. Gregory found himself listening out for zombie moans.

The daggers were currently in one of the upstairs rooms, in a locked display case. Confident but quiet, Gregory headed up the staircase and across the landing, not bothering to hold on to the bannister – he was wearing gloves, true, but such precautions were pure instinct with him now. The third door on the right was what he needed and he pushed it open, pleased of the silent hinges.

The Daggers were where he had last seen them, lying in their display case in the centre of the room. With the alarms knocked out, it was a simple matter to break through the glass encasing them and he did so, sweeping away the shards before taking the items. They had been laid out side by side, the cloth carrier they normally rested in beside them and Gregory considered putting them back in their original housing, then just dropped the carrier into his own bag, the daggers dropped in hurriedly atop it. Normally he would have taken more time, more care – but he didn't feel right.

His eyes scanned the room worriedly, but he didn't see anything that should give him pause. There were no sounds, no footsteps, nothing to indicate he wasn't alone. And yet he felt – watched. The nasty, crawling feeling that someone's eyes were upon him. He told himself he was just spooked due to the nature of his activity, a spot of breaking and entering to steal relics used in Satanic rituals, but it was more than that. He didn't spook easily and if he felt watched, then he damn well needed to be vigilant.

He zipped up his bag hurriedly, deciding it was time to get the hell out of this place. He checked that the merchandise was secure, then paused out of sheer habit, to listen for noise.

There was a _click_, like something small but hard dropping onto a wooden surface. Like the floors in the corridor just outside the room Gregory stood in.

Gregory's senses instantly went on high alert, his body tensing for fight or flight. At the same time, he kept his eyes on the direction the noise had come from, going over his options. It was a through room, meaning there was a door behind him. He could use that to evade whoever was outside... assuming there _was_ someone outside and it wasn't just his own paranoia getting to him.

He backed up noiselessly, keeping his eyes on the door, his heart pounding in his ears. He found himself suddenly, desperately wishing that Christophe was there, his presence always calmed Gregory down at moments like this, as if all the tension he felt was passed to the Frenchman, allowing Gregory to think and plan.

He was no more than a metre from escape when the other door swung open soundlessly and a huge, black dog padded into the room. Gregory stopped for a moment, blinking in surprise. There had been no mention of guard dogs in his information and guard dogs weren't used without a human presence to contain them. And who in their right mind would have a guard dog _inside_ a museum? There was far too much risk of the exhibits being damaged by the animals.

Although Gregory was no expert, he guessed the dog to be a rottweiler, albeit a bloody ugly example of the breed. It was huge, rheumy red eyes eyeing Gregory, a thin trail of drool emerging from the side of its mouth. It stayed in place, watching Gregory as the blonde held his position, wondering if he should creep away, or run, or stay where he was. He needed to get out of the museum and the appearance of the dog had freaked him out slightly. Of all the things he had been expecting to go wrong, this wasn't one of them...

The dog began snarling, starting at a low, almost inaudible pitch and rising gradually in volume. It didn't break eye contact with Gregory as it did so, but the boy could see the way its shoulders tensed, preparing to move.

Gregory bolted.

He was through the other door in a second, letting it swing shut behind him without breaking stride. He had no illusions about being able to outrun the creature, there was absolutely no chance of that over any kind of distance. What he needed to do was lose it somehow, buy himself a few seconds and get to a place where it couldn't attack.

There was a thud as the dog hit the door, a crash as the door flew open and smacked against the wall. Gregory could hear its nails clicking against the wooden floors, the muted thud of its paws, even the slight pant it gave. The sound of his own boots seemed horribly loud in the silence.

He grabbed the bannister that cordoned off the upper floor to the foyer and leapt, jumping over and letting himself drop to the lower floor. It was a good twenty feet and he braced himself for the landing, allowing himself to absorb the shock as he landed and feeling fleetingly grateful that he knew how to land in such circumstances – a broken ankle would _not_ have been good at this moment. The second after he landed, he was sprinting forward again, knowing that the dog would have to take the stairs and that would buy him precious seconds – although he had the horrible feeling that they still wouldn't be enough.

He raced through the door leading to the staff area, one which usually would have been alarmed and locked automatically – but he had disengaged all the locks and alarms and it wasn't going to help him. As he hit the door, he heard the tell-tale sound of skidding as the dog hit the bottom of the stairs and changed course, still coming after him.

And gaining.

He raced for the end of the corridor and turned the corner, the final stretch before the exit. As he did, he heard the slamming of the door as the dog forced its way through it. There was too much distance to cover before he could get out. He wasn't going to make it.

Not bothering to turn to see how close it was – if he turned, he lost time and he'd know soon enough how close it was when the damned creature closed its jaws on his neck – he pushed forward, hands falling to the bag and unzipping it, pulling out two of the daggers and holding one in either hand.

The clicking of nails against concrete got louder and he could hear the low snarl that tore from the dogs throat. No time to get to the door. No time left at all.

Gregory stopped abruptly, spinning around to face the dog, eyes wide. He brought his hands up to shoulder height, clenching the daggers tightly, thinking distantly that the dog had gained more ground than he had imagined. It was nearly upon him.

Then the dog leapt at him, teeth bared.

It slammed into him with tremendous force, knocking him onto his back. At the same time, the animals forward momentum drove it directly onto the daggers Gregory held, punching into its chest deeply.

Somehow, Gregory kept his grip on the handles, although both his hands and the daggers themselves were rapidly coated in the dogs blood. He used them as leverage, shoving back on them to keep the snapping, slobbering jaws away from his face. It was dying – but it was still dangerous. Perhaps more so.

But its struggles weakened gradually as the life bled out of it. After a few moments, Gregory was able to roll the dog off him and get to his feet, grimacing as he realised just how much blood there was. He took a third dagger from the bag, leant over the stricken animal and put it out of its misery.

Letting out a shaky breath he hadn't realised he was holding, he leant momentarily against the wall, his hands automatically rising to run through his hair. He saw the gore that coated them and stopped himself. It shouldn't show up too much against his black clothes and he wore gloves – but blood on his face and in his hair could raise questions. He'd have to find a place to wash off as soon as he left...

...And just what the _fuck_ had a dog been doing in there?

He glanced over at the cooling corpse. In spite of the blood, he could see that it wore no collar and he would have bet it wasn't tagged either. Maybe some stray, but it looked pretty strong and healthy for that and how had it even got inside without being detected?

"I fucking _hate_ guard dogs," he muttered to himself and immediately felt a little better.

He went over to the animal, impatiently quashing the superstitious notion that it would suddenly come back to life. He pulled the bloodied knives from the creature, wondering if there was something he could use to clean them off – but he wasn't sure there was, he had already been too long and left too much of a trail. A simple breaking and entering to an unguarded building should not involve leaving behind dead animals. Still, what was the alternative? If he removed the corpse, it would slow him down and make leaving unseen that much harder. There was no way all the blood could be cleaned from the floor either and once the missing daggers were discovered, it would be obvious someone had been in there. Better to just get the hell out.

He dropped the three daggers back into the bag and took his own advice.

Once he got to the train station, he ducked into the grungy men's room and checked his appearance. There were splashes of blood on his face, which he cleaned off quickly. There was some in his hair and he pulled his hood further down, the only thing he could do. There was a great deal of blood drying onto his clothes, but without close inspection, it could be pretty much anything. He should get away with the journey, but the clothes would have to be disposed of at the earliest opportunity.

There was also the problem of what he was going to do with the daggers. There was no way he could hide them in his room – in fact, anywhere on the grounds of Yardale was probably a really bad idea. If any of the teachers found them, it would be bad and if Damien discovered he had them, it would be worse.

Of course, once news of the theft came to light, there was every chance that Damien would work out who had taken them in the first place, even if no one else did. He was going to have to watch his back.

Gregory considered this and laughed to himself. What the hell could he do if Damien decided to kill him? It wasn't as if Damien had to attack him with a weapon, he could cause his death without even going near him. He'd suffer some freak accident, like falling scaffolding, or faulty wiring...

_...Or unexplained wild animal attack..._

Eyes widening, Gregory backed hurriedly out of the bathroom, horribly aware of the weight of the daggers in his bag. He had to find a place close enough so he could reach them when he needed them, but safe enough to go undetected.

The woods. He'd find somewhere he could bury them, stashed safely away at a location only he knew, then he'd return to school. And his room. Where Damien was.

His train pulled in and Gregory got on it, selecting a compartment that was dimly lit and slumping into the corner, hanging on to the bag tightly. At that time of night, it was quiet and he had it to himself.

He should end it tonight. That would be the sensible thing to do. But there was too much that could go wrong if he did. All it took was for Damien to have noticed his absence, or Mr Neff to have made an unscheduled check of the rooms, and he'd be busted. Being busted was bad, being busted with seven stolen daggers on his person, three of them bloodstained... he'd never get close enough to Damien to use them after that. He'd be out of Yardale so fast his head would spin.

And after breaking into the museum and the weird encounter with the dog, he wasn't sure he was psychologically able to stab his room mate in cold blood.

The train stopped two miles from Yardale and he walked back to the school through the woods, checking his surroundings. He eventually picked a spot that was isolated but easily recognisable, to him at least, digging a shallow hole with his bare hands and once again wishing his partner in crime was around – at least he always carried a shovel.

Job done, he rose, doing a full-body stretch and turning to head back to the school, checking his watch. It was late. He should be able to clean up and get back to his room undetected, if his luck held out just a little longer...

A sound disturbed him and he stiffened, before exhaling and shaking his head. He had to be spooked if he was letting a bird get to him. He glanced over to the branches of a large tree nearby, noting the oversized crow ruffling its feathers. Its eyes were focused directly on him and he suddenly felt a shiver go up his spine. He might not be an ornithologist, but he hadn't been aware that the crow was a nocturnal creature.

Weren't crows associated with some legend, some myth about taking the souls of the recently departed to the afterlife?

Highly disturbed by the birds unblinking gaze upon him, he hurried back to Yardale.

He wasn't sure he'd ever been so simultaneously relieved and apprehensive to be anywhere before. Yardale had always been the bastion of normality in a life he spent doing increasingly outrageous things and now, the darkened stone walls seemed to give off an aura that matched the coming storm.

Gregory shook his head again, angry with himself. It wasn't like him to give into fanciful notions and paranoid fantasies. On the other hand, before this he would have thought the idea of sharing a dorm with the Antichrist was a pretty fanciful notion too and look where he was.

The sports hall was separated from the rest of the school, an extravagant addition donated by a former student who had made a small fortune on the stock market and decided there should be some lasting monument to his name. Always a keen sportsman, he had given his money and his name to the hall, forever commemorated on a plaque on the structure, bearing his name and the date the building had been opened, 1972, a mere three years before he and his expensive new car were both crushed in a freeway pile-up..

Gregory had never had a problem bypassing the lock and using the building in the night, while everyone else was sleeping. It was rare, but occasionally he suffered from bouts of insomnia and would attempt to wear himself out through physical exertion, a couple of hours running cross country or something equally strenuous. And as fastidious as he was, he couldn't return to his own room without showering away the sweat and couldn't do it in his own room lest he wake anyone up. The distance of the sports hall from the rest of the school suited his needs well enough, although there had been nothing before that hadn't been able to wait until morning.

This couldn't wait.

He had used the hall earlier, stashing the sweat pants he wore to sleep there rather than changing in his own room and risk disturbing Damien. He wasn't sure if Damien knew he had left and he certainly didn't care, just as long as Damien didn't know the reason for his nocturnal wanderings. Let him think Gregory was scared; with luck, that would make him relax his guard.

Gregory pulled off the clothes, wrinkling his nose slightly. The blood had almost dried and his clothes were stiffened and unpleasant. He bundled them up, deciding he would have to either bury or burn them, along with the security tapes from the museum and the rucksack that he'd dropped the bloody knives into. Anything at all that could link him with the theft and the dog. For the time being, he carried them into the storage room, where the gym equipment was left and buried them beneath an over sized pile of mats that were used by the younger boys. There were enough of them that it was unlikely they would all be removed and the discovery made before he could go back for them, it was an acceptable risk.

He padded back into the locker room, checking himself in the mirror. There were a couple of blood smears he'd missed, mostly those that had gone down the neck of his hoodie and not been noticeable in the poor strip lighting of the train station. Then there were the flecks in his hair, around his wrists and arms, under his nails. He could still detect the faint, lingering scent of coppery blood clinging to himself.

He shed his boxers and turned on the shower, shivering a little as the cold water hit his skin. He adjusted the temperature as much as he could, but it was still only lukewarm. Nothing different from usual, there was never hot water during the night – there was barely hot water during the day, it being some unwritten school code that a truly hot shower might in some way be construed as a luxury – but usually he was only rinsing off. There was, as there always was, someone's forgotten shower gel hanging forlornly off the rail and he used it to wash his hair as well as his body (although usually he wouldn't have dreamed of it, his curls would be unmanageable in the morning thanks to this), trying to get the traces of blood from his fingernails as best he could.

His mind wandered back to the dog at the museum. He wouldn't be the first person associated with Damien to fall foul of a wild animal attack. Presumably Damien, or someone charged with looking out for Damien, had been tracking the daggers whereabouts and knew they had been transferred to the museum – but why not just arrange to steal and hide the daggers themselves? And had the dog been left there as some guardian just in case someone found out about the daggers and decided to use them?

Or had it been left there specifically for Gregory?

Gregory paused in the process of rinsing his hair, glancing over his shoulder as he pushed his wet hair out of his face. He heard nothing, saw no one. But the feeling that he was no longer alone was very strong.

He left the water running and slipped silently from the cubicle, snatching his sweat pants from the hook he left them on and pulling them on quickly, less concerned about his still-damp skin than he was about being caught naked by whoever was in the building. A teacher snooping around, perhaps having seen him enter the building, would be bad enough, but nothing he couldn't deal with. Considering what was coming, having detention for the rest of the year didn't exactly strike concern into him. But if it was someone looking out for Damien – he could be in very serious trouble.

His eyes darted from side to side, looking for a weapon and seeing nothing.

He stepped into the main body of the locker room, sticking to the shadows, remaining silent. He glanced over the everyday items made indistinguishable in the dark, the familiar room cast in shadows.

And one shadow by the wall, more menacing than the others.

Gregory smirked. "Damien."

Damien pushed himself from the wall and stepped forward, his movements deceptively lackadaisical. He too was dressed in the sweat pants he had put on for bed, his lips curled into a sly smile that might merely have been curious had it not been for the underlying anger it concealed.

"Gregory," he returned, sounding superficially amused. "_Why_ are you showering out here in the middle of the night?"

"Went for a midnight run," replied Gregory blithely, trying to keep his composure although his heart was beating rapidly and his entire body felt tense, ready to run, or to fight. His voice grew mocking. "_Why_ are you following me?"

Damien's smile dropped and his eyes narrowed. Gregory noticed with growing unease that in spite of the darkness, he could see the colour of Damien's eyes. He'd noticed that they were so dark they were almost black and had suspected contact lenses – but if they were, he had changed them, because now the irises seemed a dull red.

He didn't think they were contact lenses.

"Just looking out for you, _Greg_," said Damien in a low voice. "After all, only four days until my birthday and we wouldn't want anything stopping you going to the party."

"Maybe there won't be a party," replied Gregory immediately, knowing it probably wasn't a good idea to alert Damien to the fact he was planning something – but Damien would already know he was up to something and he didn't like the thought of the Antichrist gloating.

Damien closed the gap between them further, his eyes making an obvious display of sweeping Gregory's naked torso. Gregory quelled the urge to try to cover himself. That would show weakness and it wasn't as if he had anything to hide – Damien had seen his chest before during their time as room mates and he had nothing to be ashamed of either.

"You go on a lot of midnight runs," mused Damien, the smile touching his lips again. "Work out a lot. More than most people, no matter how sporty they are. Maybe you're more vain than I realised." He chuckled. "But that wouldn't explain the scars."

Gregory's expression immediately became defensive and he struggled to keep it neutral. He'd picked up a few scars during his work, but he'd assumed most of them could be explained away or left ambiguous. After all, who would consider that a rich, privately educated eighteen year old could possibly have wounds from knives and bullets?

With scant inches between them, Damien rose his hand and made as if to trace the line of the scar that ran over Gregory's left pectoral, a souvenir of a mission two years previously. His fingers stopped unwaveringly bare millimetres from Gregory's skin and Gregory narrowed his eyes, refraining from batting Damien's hand away – he _would _bat it away if there was any contact, or so he told himself. His mind flashed treacherously back to their encounter in the woods.

"Knife wound." Damien rose his eyes from the scar to meet Gregory's gaze. His hand never moved. "Don't think you got that playing tennis. So, where _did _you get it? Mugged? Kinky sex?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the cold displeasure Gregory showed. "Nah. There's something else about you, isn't there? Some secret. What with your political idealism and your constant working out and your scars and your silly obsessive _need _to make the world a better place..."

He laughed, low in his throat and the chill that Gregory had already been feeling thanks to the night, his few clothes and the cold shower, intensified. It wasn't possible, it simply wasn't. Damien couldn't know what he did. Nobody ever noticed the clues and he had been twice as careful around Damien as he was around other people.

But Damien wasn't like other people. He wasn't really a person at all.

Damien held Gregory's eyes and although Gregory was sure he gave no outward sign, Damien seemed to realise he'd hit his mark, because his smirk widened. "So, what is your secret Greg? You can't be some romantic political dissident in this country, at this time. And being all talk isn't your style. I'd say you were a soldier, fighting some war for his beliefs, but that's not really your style either, is it? Not enough glamour, not enough danger. Not enough of a _gesture_. But a fighter, for sure. A soldier for hire maybe? A mercenary with a conscience...?"

His fingers finally brushed against Gregory's scarred chest and Gregory brought his own hand up to hit Damien's wrist, hard, knocking it away. "Don't fucking touch me Damien."

Gregory didn't drop his eyes as he acted and it was only that fact that enabled him to see the change in Damien's expression; a split second where his good humour dropped and an odd combination of confusion and sheer fury shone through Damien's face. But the change was quick, the look gone and returned to amusement before it could really make an impression.

Damien took several slow, exaggerated steps back, his smile becoming cruel. "Of course. Wouldn't want to scare you. Although I don't remember hearing you say 'don't fucking touch me' when we were in the woods."

He turned to leave, reaching the door and stretching his arm to grasp the handle, turning his head to look over his shoulder as he did so. "And you might want to cut down on your midnight runs. It'd be too bad if you got hurt."

Gregory clenched his fists but remained silent as Damien left the hall as soundlessly as he had arrived. He waited for a while, counting off five minutes in his head, before allowing himself to relax and sitting on one of the benches that ran the length of the locker room, resting his head on his hands a moment and desperately wishing for a cigarette. But he was all smoked out until he got to a shop in the morning.

In the meantime, did he go back to his room, or avoid it for the rest of the night? He had no real wish to face Damien again that night, but what other choice did he have, sleep on the bench? He had lost enough sleep recently as it was.

_We wouldn't want anything stopping you from going to the party..._

For whatever reason, be it for his own self-satisfaction or some kind of mind game, Damien wanted him to see what was coming. He _wanted_ Gregory alive when the shit came down. Although that probably didn't mean he wouldn't kill Gregory without a second thought if he felt he had to.

And if he'd felt he had to, he would have done it already.

Mind made up, Gregory re-set the alarm to the sports hall and returned to his own room. Damien was an indistinct shape beneath the covers, his breathing slow and regular, although Gregory doubted very much that he was actually sleeping. How could he be, so soon after their confrontation?

He climbed into his own bed and lay there until morning, unsurprised to find that his sleep was disturbed and far from restful.


	8. The Face That You Have To Face

**Author Note: **My thanks go out to , NotebookChen, let's point out the obvious, mangamoo, Bethany C. MacKenzie and Aiconx for the reviews! They're always appreciated and I hope my minor hiatus hasn't put you all off reading.

I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long – March is always a bitch of a month for me time-wise, I worked a ton of overtime and I needed to write a few things on this chapter. Unfortunately, I suffered a major computer crash while I was working on those small things and the whole chapter vanished into the toilet. It was only the open document that was affected, for which I'm profoundly grateful, but it did cause me a lot of work and I sincerely hate re-writing chapters. Not much action here, but it's necessary and I swear, I'll make up for it in the next chapter. Which is missing only the last couple of paragraphs and should be up all kinds of faster, like within a week faster. Hope you enjoy!

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_I'm the face that you have to face, mirroring your stare, I'm what's left, I'm what's right, I'm the enemy..._

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By the time Damien had finished his classes the next day his mood, which had been growing steadily worse as his birthday approached, was blacker than ever. Not all of it was because of Gregory Thorne, but enough of the blame was his that Damien could latch onto the blonde as the author of all of his misery.

Gregory had been right about one thing; Damien couldn't just get rid of him. These days, immediately prior to his ascension, were crucial and he couldn't afford for anything to screw them up. Already, Yardale had been the focus of much unwanted attention and a lot of it revolved around him. He already knew this hadn't gone unnoticed, although there was only coincidence to link him to anything, all it would take was one more event for the Head to just announce that enough was enough and have him sent away. And at this stage, he simply couldn't afford that. All the pieces were in place and although it may not have been impossible for him if he were not at the school, it would certainly make life more difficult. That wasn't the only thing though and it was something else that Gregory had been accurate about; should too much attention come his way, then Damien would be a target to people with far more knowledge about his weaknesses than the English boy.

It was no secret how much he and Gregory hated each other and how they antagonised each other at every opportunity. If anything were to happen to Gregory, no matter what it was or how public a display or how far away Damien was, there would still be talk. There had already been too many accidents around him and it made no difference what the circumstances, people would only accept so many theories before they started imagining conspiracies instead. Which of course, it was.

And that meant that he had to put up with Gregory not just being a pain in the ass, but also with the man knowing about what he was, what would happen and when it would happen. And out of all the people who could have found him out, Gregory was the one who might just be able to do something about it.

Although not if Damien could help it.

He slung his bag on the floor in a corner and dropped heavily onto his bed, glaring at the ceiling. Gregory had been fucking insufferable that whole day, not that he was ever anything else. Damien could almost see him thinking something over in his mind, being smug but trying to keep it to himself. No, smug wasn't quite the right word. Maybe slightly relieved. Certainly thoughtful, on the rare occasions the two hadn't been forced into close proximity, he could see Gregory immediately start mulling something over. Maybe he kept it for then because he thought Damien could read his mind. That at least brought a grim smile to his face.

Gregory seemed to think he could stop Damien somehow, that much was certain. It showed in his speculative glances and distant frowns. But Gregory being Gregory, he was probably wrestling with his conscience, or contemplating his moment or similar. How _tiresome_. If Damien couldn't kill Gregory and get him out of the way like that, then Gregory should at least provide him with some entertainment in the form of trying to stop him. He couldn't possibly succeed and seeing that usual calm self-confidence replaced by utter defeat would be something to look forward to at least.

No, he shouldn't be worrying about Gregory. Whatever he was planning was futile and doomed to failure. There was no other possible outcome – and yet, his mind kept turning to it, worrying over the possibilities. But it didn't matter, in just a couple of days he could quit even thinking about being stopped.

The world was coming to an end on his birthday.

Damien sighed as he looked up at the ceiling. All his life, he had known that his eighteenth would mark the day he took his rightful place as ruler, ushered in a new world order of chaos and pain. He hadn't much bothered when he was younger, eighteen was a long way off. And then all of a sudden, it wasn't. All of a sudden, it was right around the corner and the days kept moving faster.

He knew the day, but not the hour. He didn't know what would happen, except that he would shed his humanity like a skin he had outgrown and become all that he was destined to be. He had been sent to live among the humans, to blend in and learn from them. Much of his role would involve punishment and torment and without having experienced the human condition, how would he ever be able to understand why one torment was greater than another? How seeing a loved one hurt was often more painful than enduring the suffering oneself? What it was that made people tick, and the most creative way to pull them apart?

So he lived with them, a thin veil of humanity shielding him. He knew what he was, but there was that part of him that was human, the part that was mostly visible to others. And that small part of him sometimes tore him in new and baffling directions.

That part of him would be history come the apocalypse. And for some reason, losing it felt like dying.

It would be _nothing_ like dying, he knew that already, intellectually at least. It was more akin to transforming, from some lowly grub to a moth – or so he had been told. The analogy had never pleased him much. He had not counted on the human desire to _survive_, under any circumstances. To fight for its existence. He had not counted on having doubts.

It had been the same for Damien's opposite number too. _He_ had doubts too, before he had gone forth to do _his_ masters bidding. But he had done it anyway, and for what reward? Grim suffering and death, and eternal servitude. At least Damien wouldn't be subject to that indignity. As the saying went, better to rule Hell than serve in the other place.

The course of Damien's life, and _his_, had run parallel and yet at opposite ends of the scale. No humble beginnings for Damien,although the signs of his creation mirrored those of _his_ birth. They had both performed miracles and gained believers, although Damien's were of a darker variety than healing and feeding and he didn't do them for the good of the receiver. There was always a price. They both had their converts, disciples and detractors.

But _he_ had let himself be killed and Damien certainly wasn't about to let that happen to him. Even if _he_ had come back after death, that was the parallel. When Damien was finally killed, when his reign was over, he could never come back again. Once he was gone, there would be no trace of him in life or in the afterlife.

No, he wasn't going to die before his transition. He was going to become more, greater. And he was scared. Not that he would admit it to anyone – he could barely admit it to himself – but he was terrified of what came next.

In spite of his friends and hangers on, he was always solitary and once his transformation was done, he would remain that way forever. Fear rarely begat affection or empathy to ones slavers. He would be alone, no matter how many people he could keep with him physically. He would destroy. There were parts of the earth he would be sorry to see gone and once he had ascended, they would be torn away. Places he'd had good times, or just liked to hang out, or that held fond memories, they would crumble under his order. Maybe more easily, since they had some special meaning to his human side and there was a side of him that wanted to see his human side buried forever. And although he had always rather disdained humanity, he was dismally surprised to find that he would miss a lot about it. Small pleasures and happinesses. Foolish things that if he tried to articulate, would mean nothing. Even other people. No one specific, he hadn't met anyone he particularly liked, but being a part of the crowd, or people watching, or even arguing with someone on equal terms.

But he couldn't think of all that. Whether or not he wanted the change, it was going to happen. And it wasn't as if he didn't want the apocalypse. The power, the destruction, everything that he had been told would be his was going to be. Of course he wanted that, who wouldn't? In the aftermath, he would no longer care – but the transition, what might happen, had caused him sleepless nights. More so as it approached. And it was coming so _fast, _it was nearly here.

If he were to rebel against his destiny – jut _if_, he had no plans on doing so – _if_ he were, would it even make a difference? What was he going to say, _I know I'm the Antichrist, but I've decided I don't really want to be the guy who ushers in the end of humanity, so you mind if I do something else with my life?_ Like that'd work. Being the Antichrist wasn't some career that he could drop out of should he not like the hours or the wages were too low. It was what he had been created for. It wasn't something he could opt out of.

He wouldn't be allowed to do it. He didn't know what exactly was going to happen when his birthday arrived, if the stroke of midnight would see him change or whether there would be some catalyst that would trigger it off, but he doubted it would be something that he could avoid. There was no way that he was going to be able to hold off his destiny through the sheer force of his will.

Of course, the whole deal might be avoided if he were to die before his birthday.

Damien chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip as he considered this. _Might_ be avoided was the keyword, because he was almost certain that there was some contingency in place that would stop him from being killed. But nothing at all was certain until he had actually shed his humanity and there was always the chance that his dying would be the catalyst to stop the apocalypse. The only things that could possibly destroy him at this point were designed in such a way he would never be able to use them on himself, and no one else would even get the chance.

His eyes narrowed. He wasn't planning to die, because he didn't want the apocalypse stopped. End of story.

Which led him right back to Gregory Thorne.

Gregory was planning to kill him, he had no doubts about that. Had it been anyone else, he would have thought that he was safe enough, people could plan but there were few who could actually drive themselves to kill another person over something they may or may not do, do the job right and then face the consequences afterwards. He didn't doubt that Gregory could though. He was arrogant, cautious, cold and exacting. If anyone could do it, he was the one. And Damien had trapped himself into being unable to rid himself of the blonde for the immediate future.

Damien's rather angry look changed into a slow, dark smile. Gregory might think he knew what he was getting into – but he was wrong. Damien had no intention of backing out now, no matter what minor misgivings he might have. And if Gregory wanted to play hero, he was about to learn that this was one game he was never going to win.

~:~

Gregory wanted to spend as little time as he possibly could around Damien that night. There were good enough reasons for that, not only had he never been able to stand the other boy but now he knew what he really was, he didn't want to put himself close to the other when he really didn't have to. But he didn't want to take refuge in anyone else's room, in no mood to deal with the inane concerns of his other friends, and he didn't want to fake studying in the library. He needed to think for a while.

To that end, he took a walk out of the school gates and along the path where he had so nearly been crushed by a car – and saved Damien's life, which had proven to be a mistake he now realised. If the hit and run would have worked at all. Damien had alluded that there was no way the car would have killed him and although Gregory knew that the other boy bled well enough, he tended to feel the same way. It didn't seem likely that the Antichrist could be finished with a simple accident like that one. Which led him to wonder if the weapons he had acquired would have any effect at all. But that was not a good way for him to think. Lohan had honestly believed they would work, he wasn't the only one who thought that and truthfully, it was the only chance that Gregory had. His own meticulous searches had come up with nothing else.

And always assuming he got the chance to use the daggers at all. He didn't have to question if he could stab his classmate seven times in cold blood, he knew already that he could do it without flinching and without hesitation. But Damien was not the average person that he could merely creep up on as if this were any other mission and take care of without a problem. Damien could well sense his presence and act upon it, even if he were asleep. But unfortunately, that was something he would just have to deal with when it happened. He couldn't prevent it, he would just have to be ready for it.

Could he overpower Damien should he need to? Almost certainly. But would Damien have some way to fight back against him – again, almost certainly. He would have to be prepared for anything, but there was little he could do in the way of preparation. He thought bitterly of his crucifix, now who-knew-where.

And should he actually succeed in killing Damien, that would just be the start. There was the aftermath to consider. This was not his usual target, his usual location. He could not merely dispose of the evidence or the body, be far from the area once the discovery was made. He would be a suspect immediately and he knew that there was no real way he could hide his involvement. The first worry was that he would be arrested. This was murder in the eyes of the law, he would be spending the rest of his life in prison and Gregory knew very well that he could not handle a cage for any conceivable amount of time. And that of course, was assuming he even made it to trial. It was Yates's reaction that convinced him his life would remain in danger from the second he laid his hands on Damien, because the boy's devotion to the Antichrist had been extreme, even knowing he would soon be killed. Gregory knew he would not be the only one, he would be marked for death by all of Damien's followers. Jail or custody might not be a hindrance, maybe even a help. It wasn't as if there was anywhere for him to run to.

Not from there anyway. He could run the moment the killing blow was struck and Damien was dead. That would be the safest option by far. He would have to spend his entire life in hiding from that moment, but was that really so far from what he had planned for his future anyway? He had fully intended to pursue his mercenary sideline rather than continue his education, this would just mean him vanishing on a larger scale rather than merely disguising his activities. He could do it easily enough and he didn't doubt that he could rely on Christophe's help should he need it.

So... kill Damien, flee immediately, vanish. It was a simple enough plan, assuming that he could kill Damien in the first place.

Which led him to consider the daggers. There were no guarantees and should he screw up, then he would be dying sooner than he had anticipated. But that was a secondary concern, the moment he started to fear death was the moment he lost his edge. Either he would succeed or he would fail, there was nothing to be gained from considering failure.

It wasn't if they would work that bothered him so much. It was how he was going to get the daggers from their hiding place to the room without Damien realising it. It would not be safe for him to just leave them where they were until Damien fell asleep, the boy had already proven that he sometimes awoke while Gregory went out at night. If he left the room and returned with them, Damien might realise something was wrong and be awake and on guard upon his return. But if he were to retrieve them and then hide them in the room, then there was a greater chance of Damien finding them before Gregory could put his plan into motion.

He smoked contemplatively, trying to work out what his best plan might be. Possibly it was option number three, to keep the daggers on him. If he went back to the room and grabbed his books, put them in his bag, it would look as if he were heading for a prolonged study session at the library. He could return with the bag, emptied of books – he wouldn't be needing them now – and replaced with the daggers immediately before curfew. Damien would have no reason to search his bag, no time to go poking into things and the daggers would be close at hand for when he was able to act.

It was the best plan that he had and Gregory nodded to himself, flicking the cigarette aside. Best to get on with it then. He would return to their room, he was almost certain that Damien would be there since he had been avoiding company of late, then leave again.

He walked back onto school grounds and toward the building without any remorse for his intended actions. Damien was a threat, he would deal with it. He could not afford to feel pity for the boy, so he spared none. His only concern was getting away with his crime and remaining alive and free once it was carried out. And in fairness, he would be doing the world a favour.

Gregory's walk to his room was slow, but his stride picked up as he approached the door. He didn't want Damien to think he was in any way intimidated and so he ensured his steps sounded normal. He went in, glancing passingly at Damien and then completely ignoring him as he always had done when he could get away with it. Damien was lying on his bed and seemed about as friendly as Gregory was feeling.

Damien leant up on his elbows as Gregory went to his desk, snatching up his bag from the floor as he did so in order to dump books into it. Gregory didn't have to look to know that Damien was watching him intently, he could feel those black eyes – or were they red right then? – boring into the back of his neck.

"Enjoy your walk Greg?" asked Damien with false joviality. "Been trying to think of ways to off me perhaps? So, what did you come up with? Gun? Rope? Splashing holy water around and saying a whole bundle of prayers?"

Gregory snorted without looking around, slightly unnerved that Damien had come dangerously close to guessing his thoughts. Then again, what else would he be thinking of? It was pretty self-explanatory."Is that why you stole my crucifix?"

"Yates took it," replied Damien dismissively.

Gregory turned, almost surprised that Damien had actually confessed to knowing something about it. Although probably he shouldn't' have been, there wasn't anything that could be done and it was of no consequence now. "Yates didn't breathe without your say-so."

Damien shrugged. "He knew what I am. I told him the fucking symbol pissed me off."

"What happened to it?"

"He flushed it." Damien imitated a flushing noise, smirking a little. "It's long gone. You're not gonna be able to use that against me. Not that it would have worked either. I can't be stopped."

"You're not unstoppable," snorted Gregory, turning his back on Damien to show just how intimidated he wasn't. He went through the books on his desk, found his literature text and grabbed it, turning his head to add something else.

Damien was standing right beside him and Gregory started in shock. There was no way he could have moved that distance in the few seconds he wasn't looking, certainly not that silently – and yet there he was, as if he had just sprung from nowhere.

Before he could react, Damien reached out a hand and shoved casually at Gregory's shoulder, pushing him a couple of steps backward. His back brushed against the wall and then Damien was there, planting a hand at either side of Gregory's head, his eyes boring into Gregory's face. Gregory could feel the entire force of Damien's will in that one intense look. It seemed to drain his strength, sap the urge to fight back from him. He could barely find the energy to stand. But somehow, he managed to hold that gaze with a cold look of his own, hiding how trapped he felt, how suddenly defenceless.

And then Damien's lips were trailing against his, not quite a kiss but enough to show it was an option.

"Why stop me?" Damien's voice was amused, his breath warm against Gregory's lips, his eyes still burning into his face. "I can give you everything you ever wanted."

His eyes finally left Gregory's as he moved his face so that he could speak directly into Gregory's ear and still, Gregory felt frozen to the spot. "If you stop fighting me, stop being so _hopelessly _noble, you could have it all. Everything your heart desires, every secret dream, every dark fantasy, all yours. I can give it to you. Everything. Anything. Any_one_..."

"No," said Gregory hoarsely, unaware he had been about to speak or had even been able to until the words left his mouth. "You can't."

Damien paused against his neck. "You doubt I can do it? Even now, after I proved what I can do?"

"I don't doubt," said Gregory, his voice growing stronger. As if his words had released him from some kind of hypnotic spell, he found himself becoming more resolute, debilitation leaving him. "I _know._ You can't give me what I really want and even if you could, I wouldn't take it from _you_."

Damien drew his head back, hands still caging Gregory in place, eyebrow raised in superficial good humour – but his eyes gave him away, flashing furious and red. "Keep your futile hopes alive then, if you must. And when the end of days comes, you'll beg me to offer again. I plan to make sure of it."

"I'm shitting myself," said Gregory sarcastically, heart still racing but his mind made up. He'd chosen his side and no matter what, he was going to fight for it and not show fear.

Damien's face twisted into a vicious imitation of a smile. "There was another guy who thought he had the answer of what to do about me, how to stop me. He was so _sure_, but he found out when it was too late that he didn't know shit and all he'd done was leave a lie for the people that came after him. What was his name again? Oh yeah... Megiddo."

_The Daggers of Megiddo..._

Gregory's eyes widened as the implications of what was being said sank in and he finally found the strength to shove Damien away. Damien fell back a couple of steps but made no move to retaliate. Instead, he watched as Gregory bolted from the room, his mocking laughter following the blonde all the way down the hall.

He ran from the school, not caring about being seen, heading for the woods where he had buried the daggers. For a moment, he was so agitated he lost his bearings, but then he saw his own personal markers, the right tree formation telling him he was where he should be.

And the crow sat in the branches, watching him.

Gregory clenched his fists. It couldn't be the same bird. It was coincidence, that was all, perhaps there was something in the area that crows especially liked to feed on, a mouse nest or something... but he knew he was desperately rationalising and nothing about the situation so far had been anything like rational.

He dropped to his knees and dug. This was it, the end. Once he had the daggers, he was killing Damien tonight, no more excuses, no more chances. He couldn't be concerned about being caught any more, he had to end it.

But Damien's words told him more than they had said out loud. Damien knew about the daggers and he knew that Gregory had them. He had known all along and he wasn't concerned, or at least was doing a great job of hiding it if he was. And if there was any legitimacy in what he had learned from Lohan, there was only one reason he wouldn't be worried.

Gregory held out hope far longer than perhaps he should have done, but the deeper he dug, the more obvious the truth became.

The daggers were gone.

As he knelt by the hole, filthy, head bowed, he fancied he could still hear Damien's mocking laughter.


	9. It Comes Down To This

**Author Note:** My huge thanks to Aiconx, , mangamoo1, Bethany C. Mackenzie, NotebookChen and let's point out the obvious for the reviews! They're always very welcome and make me feel loved, lol.

This chapter is a little later than I thought it would be, my computer has completely and totally died on me. Which is bloody annoying. Fortunately, I backed a lot of work up. Unfortunately, this chapter wasn't finished when I did and I'd already written the rest of it once (and not backed up, because I am an idiot). The laptop I'm using keeps turning itself off unexpectedly and it's very frustrating. Yet still better than nothing at all.

Um, I really hope you all like this chapter – I have The Fear about posting it. Let me know if you liked it, or if you didn't, and why. Love you guys!

-:-:-:-

_It comes down to this, your kiss, your fist..._

-:-:-;-

Gregory knelt by the hole for what seemed like a long time, although in reality it couldn't have been for more than fifteen minutes or so. The daggers were gone. The thought kept revolving around his head. The daggers were gone and he was screwed. He had no back-up plan. There was nothing else he knew of that would dispose of Damien, his research had brought up nothing else. Damien had played him all along.

But no, that didn't seem accurate. He hadn't seemed to know that Gregory had the daggers, rather he seemed to be trying to persuade the blonde that they would be of no use to him and it was no use looking for them. And if he knew about them and had been the one to take them, there would have been no satisfaction in bringing them into the conversation at that point. It would have been more amusing for the Antichrist to let him keep his hope until the final moment, knowing that while Gregory planned the daggers were missing.

But Damien himself had said, he had eyes everywhere. Maybe one of the people who served him had discovered Gregory's hiding place, seen him or something – he hadn't noticed anyone though, except that bird. He shivered, looking over his shoulder for the crow. It was still there, staring at him impassively and his hands itched to find a rock to throw at it. He didn't like how alert it seemed.

And it didn't matter anyway. The daggers were gone and he didn't see any way of getting them back.

Now, he had no way of killing Damien. He had been ready to do it, prepared mentally with a plan in place for what he was doing and now, he had been thwarted. It made him feel angry and impotent, as if he was powerless. As if he had no control over events at all. He loathed feeling that way, it only sent more frustration through him. Normally, he would have thought his way around the problem, something new that he could try instead. But there was nothing. There was nothing that could be done, nothing new to try.

And he still had to face fucking Damien. After all, they shared a room.

He rose, noticed the debris and mud clinging to the knees of his uniform and brushed it off. Not that it would matter, he thought despondently. Damien would notice. When it came to the things Gregory didn't want him to see, Damien always noticed. And, thought Gregory blackly as he rubbed his hands together to rid them of dirt, he would laugh. That last thought made Gregory grit his teeth with rage. He hated for anyone to get the better of him and he _hated_ to be laughed at.

He didn't bother filling in the damn hole, merely left the woods and headed back to his room. His hands were buried in his pockets and he dragged his feet – and why not? There was nothing to rush back for now. Nothing left to continue pretending for. Damien's birthday was the day after tomorrow and Gregory had nothing. Nothing. He had failed.

But as he approached his own room, his head lifted and the mask came down. No way was he giving the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him rattled or knowing that he had no plans of how to get rid of him. His face was impassive as he walked into the room, where Damien was lying barefoot on the bed with their literature text in hand, on his back with the book over his head. But as he heard the door open, he looked up at Gregory and smirked.

Gregory walked to the bathroom, ignoring the look on Damien's face and washing his hands in the sink. He met his eyes in the mirror, not pleased with what he saw. For the first time in a long time, his naked frustrations were showing on his face. His blue eyes were cold and furious, lips pressed tightly together. An idiot could tell that he was in a foul mood and for all his flaws, Damien was not a fool. He tried to plaster a more neutral expression on, without success. The failure only pissed him off more, Damien was going to know how unnerved he was by the situation and exploit it to make him feel worse. Gregory felt a spark of bright hatred for the Antichrist and this emotion he didn't bother pushing away.

Going back out to their shared room, Gregory kicked off his muddied shoes and then his socks, sprawling out on the bed and grabbing his DS. It was too close to curfew to go out for another cigarette (until he was sure the patrol had left of course) and besides, sometimes it was a good thing to forget all about a problem, take ones mind off things for a while and come back to it with a fresher outlook. This time, it didn't seem to be working. The problem was too big and time was against him, he simply couldn't forget about it, even for a moment. He was obsessing over it, it simply wouldn't leave his thoughts.

Mr Neff put his head around the door to check they were both there ten minutes later, maybe the atmosphere in the room got to him or perhaps it was the look Gregory gave him over his game of solitaire, because he left and closed the door firmly behind him without comment. As soon as they were both sure the teacher had gone, Damien turned his head to look at Gregory. Gregory kept his eyes firmly on his console, moving the cards around the screen although he could feel the weight of the other boys stare on him, like something unpleasant crawling over his skin.

"You're not going to find a way to defeat me you know," said Damien suddenly. "You'll never get a victory over me and you know why?"

"Don't fucking push me Damien," snarled Gregory, losing the game and putting the DS on his bedside table before he threw the machine at Damien's head. "All I need is a reason, so don't fucking push me."

Damien stood up and removed his tie, throwing it carelessly onto the bedside table, ignoring Gregory's words. "You won't win because _I _know who and what you are. I know what drives you. I know what you're afraid of. You can't defeat me because I don't fear guilt, or shame, or consequence, or eternal damnation in Hell. You do."

He laughed as Gregory's frown deepened, crossing the space between their beds to look down at the other boy. "And you're not scared of _me_, even now," he said with mild wonder. "At least, not on the surface."

"I'm warning you."

"I can hear the way your heart speeds up though. Is that adrenaline? Anger? Or is it fear?"

"Hardly. Fuck off."

"I think it's fear. You don't know how you're going to deal with me, there's no obvious solution and you fucking hate it, don't you?"

Gregory was off the bed before Damien could move, grabbing the other boy by the collar of his shirt and hissing a response into his face. "You should know what fear is. You've been sulking your way around ever since you realised what your eighteenth meant, haven't you? Too damn scared of fighting against something you clearly don't want – wait, that's not it either. You're too damn scared of trying to fight and failing, of everyone knowing you failed, that you might be seen as weak, or fallible or – or _human_..."

Damien's hand reached around Gregory's wrist with bruising force, the teasing light gone from his eyes. He tore Gregory's hand loose from his collar, pushing him away. Gregory took a couple of steps back, then launched himself forward, grabbing Damien's shirt again and shoving backward with all his considerable strength. Taken aback, Damien didn't protect himself and fell, landing on his ass and spending only a moment gathering his rage before leaping to his feet and throwing himself at Gregory, both of them falling back onto the bed and rolling off the other side with a crash. The sound would usually have brought the other students and the dorm-master on the run, but Damien didn't want to be interrupted at that point; wanting only the chance to beat the living shit out of his room mate. At his will, the rest of the building took no notice of the noise, no one thinking that it could be anything of import.

They landed on the floor, Gregory on top, Damien getting the breath knocked out of him as his back hit the ground. Gregory made a fist and landed a hard punch to Damien's midsection, winding him further. Damien growled and came up swinging, catching Gregory just above the eye and splitting the skin of his brow. The blow knocked the blondes head back and Damien capitalised, yanking Gregory's shirt hard enough to pop several of the buttons and throwing him onto his back.

Damien was strong and could fight, but he rarely had to; his words usually kept him away from trouble and it was rare that anyone who might challenge him didn't meet with an unfortunate accident before anything could happen. But right then he didn't want to use demonic abilities or to talk his way out of things, he wanted to break Gregory apart with his bare hands. It wasn't going to be that easy. Gregory was stronger, had been in many more skirmishes and was better able to anticipate what Damien would do. However, his own rage was working against him; it was a rare occasion that Gregory didn't manage to keep his cool even under the most pressing of circumstances and his anger was blinding him to the best way to win the fight.

Rolling on top of Gregory with his fist raised for another blow, Damien was met by a punch that took him by surprise, landing on his cheek and numbing the area. In the back of his mind was the knowledge that both of them would have some serious explaining to do in the morning – turning up to lessons with both of them battered would lead to one obvious answer – but right then, he didn't care. He was going to show this pretentious prick who was boss and the hell with the consequences.

He grabbed a fistful of Gregory's hair and bounced his head off the floor, going for the knockout. Gregory made a hurt sound and drew a knee up sharply, aiming for a blow to Damien's balls, catching him in his already abused stomach instead. With a gasp of pain, Damien dropped his head slightly as he pulled his stomach back and Gregory half-sat up, slamming his forehead into the bridge of Damien's nose.

Blood flowed and Damien saw red, lashing out with his right hand and catching Gregory in the mouth more by luck than design, having wanted only to hurt the other. Gregory fell back again before rising onto his elbow, hand curling into a fist. Breathing heavily, Damien flicked out his tongue to taste his own blood, running thickly from his nose, before barely moving in time to avoid a blow to the chin that might just have knocked him out, letting it land heavily on his shoulder instead, deadening his whole arm.

Gregory reached out and grabbed Damien's shirt, shoving him back to try for better leverage, bucking his body and knocking Damien aside. Gregory's eyes were half-lidded in anger, blood trailing down the side of his face and smeared across his mouth, dripping from his chin and staining the pale skin on Damien's face as the other straddled him, thighs trapping Damien's legs.

Damien saw Gregory's hand curl once more, bruised, torn knuckles still ready to do more damage. Instinctively, he grabbed the dangling ends of Gregory's tie, his other hand shooting upward. The heel of his hand caught Gregory beneath his blood-slicked chin jerking his head painfully backward and eliciting a grunt of pain from the other. Damien managed to use the momentum to push Gregory over, rolling on top of him again. Immediately, Gregory struggled wildly against him, raising his arms to shove Damien away.

Damien fought, but his strength was beginning to ebb and he caught Gregory's wrists with his hands, wrestling with the blonde rather than actively fighting him, feeling the muscles of Gregory's forearms tight beneath his fingers. He used his entire frame to hold Gregory down, putting all his weight into forcing the others wrists to the floor and pinning them there, knowing if he let the other boy up, he was going to come out of the fight badly.

Gregory strained against him and Damien almost panicked; the blonde seemed able to keep up the frenetic pace of the fight still while Damien was fast running out of endurance. He leant more heavily onto Gregory, chests touching, red eyes meeting blue with a stare that sapped the will of most people. This time, it wasn't working too well. Gregory's eyes flashed resistance, his quickened breath against Damien's face.

Without meaning to, Damien dropped his head lower and his lips met Gregory's, tasting his salty, blood-slicked mouth, feeling the sudden sharp intake of air...

Gregory bit Damien's lower lip, sinking his teeth in without a hint of the playfulness that usually accompanied such a gesture; it was intended to hurt. Damien's eyes flew open wide as the skin broke, his own blood filling his mouth and dripping onto Gregory's. He pulled back a fraction but Gregory didn't let go and Damien pressed forward instead, putting more pressure on Gregory's already injured mouth and using the momentary relaxation of the bite to force his lips apart.

Damien kept his fingers gripped tightly around Gregory's wrists, knowing that he was leaving reddened indentations and not much caring. If Gregory had his fists free, then he might start hitting again and Damien was too uncertain what the hell was going on to allow it.

He could taste their blood mingled in his mouth, the lingering taste of nicotine from Gregory's recently acquired habit. His tongue probed further, brushing against Gregory's teeth to caress the roof of his mouth. And then Gregory's own tongue slid along Damien's and suddenly, the blonde was returning the kiss as fiercely as Damien, his body straining up to the Antichrist's in a way that had nothing to do with throwing him off. There was as much anger in the kiss as there had been in the punches, more so since neither could explain their own actions.

The reciprocation took Damien by surprise and Gregory twisted his wrists, freeing one from Damien's grip, although the other remained trapped. He immediately brought his free hand to Damien's head and grabbed a fistful of his black hair, dragging it sharply so Damien was forced to draw his head back. Gregory didn't break the kiss however, his bloodied mouth pressing against Damien's as he leant upward to compensate.

_This isn't really happening,_ thought Damien in confusion.

Gregory shifted his weight and Damien realised the blonde was trying to push him onto his back. He put his hand to Gregory's shoulder and shoved him back, their lips breaking contact, Gregory pulling briefly and painfully on the roots of Damien's hair before letting go. Whether or not it was really happening, there was no way Damien was letting Gregory get the upper hand here.

As soon as Gregory's back hit the floor, Damien was on him again, his lips trailing over the other boys. He released Gregory's wrist but kept the hand on his shoulder to persuade him to stay in place.

Gentle persuasion didn't work. Gregory put both hands to Damien's chest and shoved him again, knocking him sideways. Gregory rolled with the movement, leaning over Damien and clashing their lips together before the other could respond. Damien growled slightly as Gregory's hands found his chest again, this time grabbing the buttons of his shirt and unfastening them without care, loosening or losing several in the process. As the last one came free, Gregory pulled the material to one side, exposing Damien's torso to the air. He finally pulled his lips from Damien's and Damien had just change to register those blue eyes looking back at him, clouded with lust and wrath and confusion, the same thought reflected there as had been in Damien's mind; _this is not really happening._

Grabbing fistfuls of Gregory's shirt, he pushed back, forcing the blonde to kneel up as he managed to sit. The moment they were upright, he used the fabric to drag Gregory forward again, another messy, desperate, bloody kiss between them. Gregory's hands found his shoulders, shoving the shirt from his back and Damien dropped his arms so the item could fall off before using his whole weight to topple Gregory backwards again. The other was too strong, Damien couldn't allow him to gain any advantage over him again.

Damien went for Gregory's bruised lips again, stopped when Gregory grabbed his hair once more, forcing his head back. Anticipating another headbutt, Damien jerked his head higher as Gregory leaned his head forward, teeth latching onto the skin above Damien's collarbone and biting down, hard. Instinctively, Damien tried to twist away, only to find himself angling his head to expose more of his neck to Gregory's mouth.

Gregory obliged him, leaving bruises and warm, drying streaks of his own blood against Damien's skin, his mouth trailing down to alternately bite at the flesh or suckle it painfully. He ran his free hand over Damien's chest, catching a nipple between his index and middle finger and crushing it between them, Damien's wordless sound of protestation only seeming to make him increase the pressure.

His breathing coming in short, heavy bursts, Damien grabbed Gregory's shirt and tore at the already-abused material, pulling it open and taking advantage of Gregory's slightly raised body to pull it from his shoulders, dragging it off his arms so that Gregory had to release his grip on Damien's hair.

Damien used the moment to push Gregory back with both hands on his pecs, digging his nails in and raking them down, hearing Gregory's startled hiss as scratches appeared down his torso, welling up with blood. Damien shifted his head down to run his tongue along one of the wounds, leaving behind as much of his own blood as he took from Gregory. He gripped Gregory's sides with his hands as the blonde started arching up, not wanting to be put at a disadvantage again, his mouth finding Gregory's nipple and nipping it hard between his front teeth. Gregory made some sound between pain and pleasure, his hands reaching for Damien's shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh.

_This isn't really happening _Damien thought once again, his tongue playing with the nub of Gregory's nipple, hips grinding hard against Gregory's. He became aware that he was achingly, painfully hard and the move put him in contact with Gregory's own arousal. Realising it gave him a weird sense of dislocation from the situation, surely they shouldn't both be so horny when they were supposed to be fighting?

_I'm not really doing this with Greg fucking Thorne and he isn't really letting me_ the rational part of his mind continued to insist as he raised his head, the blood still spilling from his nose landing in droplets across Gregory's chest. He leaned in to kiss the blonde fiercely, not caring about the pressure he was putting on the boys injured mouth, hands dropping to Gregory's zipper to yank it open, pulling urgently at his trousers and boxers.

_And he doesn't really like it,_ Damien's rationality finished, although the situation had gone so far into irrationality that he wasn't sure what the hell was happening. And the voice was flying in the face of all evidence as Damien found he couldn't get the material over where Gregory lay on the floor and leaned back a little, only for Gregory to capitalise and shove Damien onto his back. Immediately, Gregory planted his hand on Damien's chest and rolled on top of him, kicking off the clothes that Damien had already started on and following suit on Damien's zipper, almost tearing the zip right off the fabric.

As Gregory dragged the clothes off, an oddly grim look of confused lust on his face, Damien realised he had allowed himself to be put at a disadvantage; Gregory was on top and that was not good, not good at all. He planted both hands against Gregory's chest and shoved him back, Gregory resisting and grabbing both of his wrists to stop him. Still fighting each other, causing damage, battling to prove a point. Hands bruising flesh without caution as they tried to pull each other closer while at the same time, trying to force the other into submission.

And in the moment the outcome was decided, as they stopped fighting and started fucking, Damien caught Gregory's gaze and realised that the fury and confusion and sheer lust he saw there was mirrored in his own crimson eyes.


	10. Favourable Slavery

**Author Note: **Huge thanks go out to all my reviewers as always, Andatariel.x, Four of Spades, G. Wings, NotebookChen, mangamoo1, let's point out the obvious, Aiconx, The Brat Prince, KiwiHolocaust and Bethany C. MacKenzie! I'm always so panicked about posting anything with romance (or in this case, fucked-up hate sex) that every favourable review is a huge relief. And the last chapter was the most reviewed chapter to date, which is always a good sign.

And! I owe extra huge thanks to Aiconx, who gifted me with the most awesome fanart for this story! Honestly, it's a truly awesome picture and I'm so grateful to have inspired it. There's a link in my profile, so go and take a look!

The next chapter might take a couple of weeks, I'm so snowed under it's not funny and it was one of the chapters I hadn't backed up before my computer went crash, so I'm having to rewrite it again. I seem to have had to rewrite a lot of this story... thanks for that Microsoft.

-:-:-:-:-

_I got caught up in favourable slavery..._

-:-:-:-:-

Damien lay on his back, on the floor, staring up into the darkness. There was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, something akin to fear and he suspected he was closing in on panic. If he had been able, he would have seized the feeling and destroyed it but it was too vague and free-floating. This wasn't a situation he could fix with a few simple manipulations – he'd tried that and it had failed. The simplest way should have been to destroy the source of his confusion, but whenever he considered it, his mind immediately threw up vehement justifications to the opposite.

Gregory lay beside him on his side, back to Damien, not in any kind of contact with the other boy. Damien assumed he was asleep. He hadn't said a word in the aftermath, merely given Damien that icy glare and shoved him away. Damien hadn't wanted to argue with that dawning realisation and the overpowering dislike reflected in those blue eyes and let himself be shoved, allowing Gregory to draw away from him.

Well, _that_ had gotten out of hand in a hurry.

Damien had never intended for things to go so far. His sole reason for keeping Gregory around and alive had been as a form of distraction – ever since Gregory had found out what he was and what was about to happen, Damien had been able to speak more freely and in doing so, been able to strengthen his own resolve. Mocking Gregory about what the future held reminded Damien what his entire reason for existing was and allowed him to make it sound glorious, to himself at least, the words drowning out his lingering doubts about what he was doing – what he was destined to do.

Only Gregory had seen through him, cut to the heart of his doubts and confronted him with them. And Damien had needed some way, any way, to shut him the hell up. Both of them were scared out of their minds, Damien with the inevitability of his life and the total lack of choice in the matter, Gregory with the dark knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do that would change things. Both of them were in denial of their fears.

Except that Damien had been forced to confront his fear and didn't much like it. He was trapped in a web of prophecies made thousands of years before his creation and he couldn't see a way clear. He'd never wanted to be normal, he'd always enjoyed what being the Antichrist entailed, but at the back of his mind had always been the knowledge that one day, his destiny would claim him. If he accepted the money and the power and the adulation, he would have to accept the destruction too.

And now it was here. And knowing there was nothing he could do to avert it made him feel weak, insignificant...

_Human_.

He couldn't deny his fear anymore. He didn't want to be the cause of the end of everything he knew, the downfall of mankind. He hadn't asked for it, he hadn't sought it out. He had never been given a choice. And there was no one who could stop him.

Damien turned his head slightly to look at Gregory's naked back. At least Gregory had tried, would probably keep on trying even though there was nothing now that could be done, while Damien just waited for the end to come with almost hysterical bravado. Damien closed his eyes for a moment. He knew the intelligent thing to do would be to kill Gregory at the earliest opportunity, have him run into one of those special accidents.

Only he wasn't going to do it.

Tentatively, Damien reached out and rested a hand against Gregory's back.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Damien drew his hand away quickly, wondering if he should change his assessment of killing the blonde. He certainly felt like doing it. He should have been angrier than he was at the rejection, but his usual simmering fury seemed to have been swallowed whole by his terror.

As if realising that there was no point faking sleep when he'd just spoken, Gregory sat up, momentarily resting his forehead on his fingers before getting to his feet. Damien watched him, able to see the deep scratches that decorated his arms, dark bruises where Damien had punched or kissed. Blood was drying over him, blood from both of them, indistinguishable.

Damien's eyes travelled Gregory's body, noting that the man wore his marks, the bloodied evidence of Damien's presence all over his body. But Gregory kept his face turned stubbornly away, heading for the bathroom, presumably to clean himself up.

Damien scrambled to his feet. "Greg, wait..." He trailed off. What had he been going to say? What the hell was there _to_ say?

Gregory paused with one hand on the bathroom door, turning back to look at Damien. There was crimson smeared over his lips, matted in his tangled blonde curls, crusted over a rapidly-blackening eye. As if he'd been weeping blood. But it was the look in those eyes that gave Damien pause, fury and disgust and hatred.

"What? What is it now? You got what you wanted Damien. You always do."

Shoving the door open, Gregory strode into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Damien snarled, rubbing the back of his hand across his own face and looking down to see it had come away bloody. He glanced back up at the bathroom door, hearing the hiss of the shower. If Gregory wanted to be like that then fine, fuck him, fuck it all, fuck the entire world. He'd tear it all down and laugh as it burned. Starting with the little problem in his bathroom, he thought with a dark smile. After all, people had fatal accidents in the shower every day.

He envisioned the bathroom, the shower, the hundreds of small things that could go plausibly wrong in just the right sequence, at just the right time. Gregory, standing under a spray that had to be stupidly cold at this time of night, perhaps shivering as he tried to wash away all traces of Damien's touch.

_He has too many marks, _said the rational part of his mind, the part that wasn't raging at the rejection. _If he's found here, where it's just the two of you and no witnesses, there could be – questions. _

It was a good point and the only reason Gregory was going to live. Or so Damien told himself as he abandoned his plan.

Damien scowled, dropping onto the nearest bed – Gregory's – and snagging the closest shirt – also Gregory's, torn and bloodied – to clean the worst of the blood off his own face. His cheek was swollen and sore to the touch, the bridge of his nose ached like a bitch and his lip was torn where Gregory had bitten it. Oh yeah, there were going to be questions all right.

And that was only the part of him that would be seen without the cover of clothing. It was a damn good thing that they didn't have PE between now and the apocalypse or else they'd be busted. Between the scratches adorning Gregory's body, the livid teeth marks on his own and the nasty bruises they both shared, there wasn't much chance they'd be able to put it down to over-enthusiastic rugby tackles.

Although they were probably going to be the centre of a lot of gossip anyway, since they'd clearly been fighting. Damien was pretty sure he could brazen it out for a day or so, especially if Gregory kept up that attitude of impotent rage.

He was taking a _very _long time in the shower.

"Oh _Greg_," he called out mockingly, deciding he may as well lay the groundwork for keeping Gregory good and angry – and ashamed. All the better for the other students to assume Gregory had lost their little scrap. "Hurry up already! You're not the only one covered in cum and blood!"

The shower turned off immediately and a few seconds later, Gregory emerged, towel wrapped around his waist, hair still dripping. And, noticed Damien, in spite of all his attempts to look neutral, his eyes glittered with anger. Not all of it directed at the Antichrist.

"Keep your bloody voice down," snapped Gregory, heading for the bed and coming to a stop beside it, going through the drawer to search out something to wear. "And get off my fucking bed."

"Oooh, language," smirked Damien, getting off the bed and making as if to pass Gregory, instead leaning over his shoulder to speak quietly. "What crawled up your ass and – oh wait, that was me."

His mocking laughter was cut off as Gregory seized his wrist and in a complicated movement, yanked it painfully up his back. At the same time he propelled Damien into the wall, his free hand taking a fistful of Damien's hair and slamming his forehead into it. Damien saw stars and would have fallen, if not for the grip Gregory had on his wrist; his arm was almost dislocated as he staggered.

_Okay,_ thought Damien woozily. Maybe pissing his room mate off hadn't been such a great idea after all.

He turned his head sideways, not bothering to fight against Gregory – the blonde had him pinned so tightly that Damien could feel the coolness of his flesh, the aftermath of the cold shower, and in that position Damien couldn't hope to overpower him.

"Very homo-erotic," he teased, trying not to sound as unnerved as he felt. Gregory was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked and Damien had expected their tryst to take the fight out of him; instead, it seemed to have fuelled his fury.

Aiming for the ego didn't seem to be working either, Gregory tightened his grip on Damien's wrist. More bruises to explain.

"Don't fuck with me Damien," growled Gregory in a low voice, directly into Damien's ear. "I've got nothing left to lose anymore, so just _don't_."

Damien couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, although it was cut off when Gregory yanked his arm again, turned into a stifled moan of pain. "I don't believe it," he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice in spite of that. "You're worried about your _immortal soul_?"

Gregory's hesitation was all the confirmation that Damien needed. He should have expected it he supposed, mortals worried about the oddest things. He made an attempt to move, but hesitation hadn't made Gregory loosen his hold any.

"Everyone goes to Hell in the end Greg," he continued, chortling. "Just be glad you have a contact. Anyway, Hell, earth, the day after tomorrow it'll all be the same thing."

"No," said Gregory, but the certainty had gone from his voice. "I'll find a way to stop you."

"Oh, please." Damien realised that Gregory's hold had relaxed slightly and pulled his arm from the other mans grasp. Gregory didn't try to stop him, merely took a step back to allow Damien to turn. Damien did so and shook his head, no longer laughing. "You're still singing that same old song, talking about some way to stop me? Even now, after all of this? Don't make me laugh. There_ isn't_ a way to stop me. You're not the first person to try and everything you _have _tried, failed. You have no plan and I can't be killed the ways mortals can. And the only way to stop the apocalypse is to kill me."

"You bruise easily enough," said Gregory, perhaps trying to sound threatening, but his voice came out flat. "I can make you wish you were dead."

_I already do,_ thought Damien, although he didn't say it, or truthfully mean it. He wanted to live, but on his own terms rather than by some prophecy.

"I don't doubt you can," he said instead, leaning against the wall. "But what's the point? It won't stop anything and we're already gonna have some awkward questions to answer in the morning."

Gregory raised a hand to his face, touching his black eye as if he had forgotten about it. "Oh? I assumed I'd meet with some unfortunate accident before the morning."

"If you were gonna have one of those, it would've been while you were in the shower."

Gregory sighed, casting his eyes away from Damien. "You realise of course that only gives me time to find another way of besting you?"

"You won't." Damien noted how Gregory looked away from him and gave a dark smile. "Think of it this way, lover." The grin widened as a flash of rage showed on Gregory's face, gone almost before it was there. "Perhaps you shouldn't be so concerned about your immortal soul. Now you're so convinced that your _overpowering_ lust for me means damnation is certain, the consequences are the same regardless of what you do. Any shame, any guilt, any mercy – meaningless. Futile. Perhaps I haven't condemned you after all. Perhaps I've freed you to do what you will. So go ahead. Try to stop me."

Gregory glared at Damien, fury in his eyes, his face a mask. "I'm going to stop you. No matter what it takes, I'm going to stop you and see that smug bastard smile wiped right off your face. And then I'm going to laugh my arse off." He turned away, dropping heavily onto his bed and yanking the covers around his hips, apparently giving up on locating pants. A moment later, he cast the towel that had been around his waist from the bed.

"Yeah, because you wouldn't want me seeing your junk." Damien rolled his eyes.

"Just bugger off Damien," said Gregory, lying on his back and closing his eyes determinedly, hands behind his head. He looked far from comfortable, as if childishly trying too hard to prove he was resting. "God help me, I'm going to get _some_ sleep tonight, so if you're not going to kill me, piss off and take a shower."

Damien scowled – was that thing about God a jibe? Before he could contemplate his actions, he dropped onto the edge of Gregory's bed, planting a hand at either side of the mans head and leaning close to his face, gratified to see Gregory's eyes fly open in startlement. "He _won't_ help you. He _can't_. No one can help you, so why not just – go along with things? Enjoy the ride?"

"You're not serious," said Gregory in disbelief. "You can't expect me to just let the world go to Hell and do nothing!"

"Even if I _promise_ that I'll let you live through the apocalypse?"

"No!"

"Nah, I didn't think you'd go for it." Damien leant up and stretched. "It's gonna happen anyway, so why not stop worrying, spend the last days having a good time?"

"Because I can clearly see just how much fun _you're_ having with the concept," said Gregory dryly. "Go put some damn clothes on."

"I'm good," said Damien with a slow, malicious grin. "So are you, by the way." His grin widened as Gregory's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. "And while we're on the subject of how we spent our penultimate night before my reign begins, we ought to get our story straight."

"I don't want to talk about it Damien," snarled Gregory. "This conversation is over. Get off my fucking bed."

"Yeah, well, what you say you want and what you really want are two different things, I've learned." Damien didn't move. "Like, when you say you don't want me to touch you and then start panting like a bitch in heat when I do."

The DS that Gregory kept beside his bed smacked Damien right between the eyes less than a second later, with a surprising amount of force. Damien recoiled backward, pain radiating from his already-injured bridge, slipping off the bed and landing with a thud on the floor.

"...That was because of the bitch comment, wasn't it?"

"_Fuck off and leave me alone!"_

Damien realised he'd pushed the blonde about as far as he'd be able to without provoking him into another fight and the Antichrist had already decided he'd had enough pain for one night. But this one last point had to be made and so, Damien took a different approach.

"I'm gone." Damien got off the floor, holding the back of his hand to his nose. He had been concerned the blow had aggravated his injury again, and sure enough there was a faint wet drop of blood, but he couldn't say for certain that was from the DS and not from earlier. Whatever, there was no more than that one trickle. He lapped it from his skin. "You know, my neck really hurts. I might go open-collar tomorrow."

He didn't take his eyes from Gregory and was rewarded when the other sat up slowly, blue eyes taking in the bruising on Damien's neck. Gregory hadn't been gentle or careful about where his teeth had landed and although the school shirt should be high enough to hide them, all it would take would be for Damien to loosen a button and everyone would see them. Something that Gregory had clearly worked out for himself.

"You're trying to blackmail me now?" Gregory's voice was low and furious. "Low, even for you. What makes you think I give a shit?"

"Because you're all about appearances." Damien kept his expression neutral. "You think that as long as things appear one way, no one will think to look any closer. And you're all about pride. You can live with people knowing we've been in a fight, but you don't like giving the impression you didn't come out on top – _if_ you'll pardon the double meaning there – and you sure as shit don't want anyone knowing that I was buried to my balls in you while you moaned my name."

He was taking a chance that Gregory's common sense would overcome his anger at the words, deliberately playing on his shame, reminding Gregory that he could blow their secret out of the water without a word. It was breathtakingly, obviously manipulative, but manipulation was what Damien did best.

In spite of that, Damien couldn't help feeling a little – hurt? No, that wasn't quite right. Confused perhaps. That things had gone so far had confused him enough, but Gregory still being so damn determined made it worse. He hadn't given in like Damien had half-expected him to, abandoned his plans and crawled away somewhere to wallow in self-loathing. Nor had he tried to fool himself that it meant he wanted to be allied with Damien. He recognised the mistake, took responsibility for his own actions and still refused to be cowed.

Damien rather admired him for that. Even if he didn't appreciate how fucking ashamed of being with him Gregory was.

"I don't want you buying my silence." Damien's eyes bored into Gregory's. "We just need something to tell Neff in the morning, because he'll take one look at us and know something's up."

"There's no cover story in the world good enough to persuade him we haven't been fighting," said Gregory, sounding deliberately bored. "Whatever we say, he won't believe us."

_Us_, noticed Damien. He wondered if Gregory had realised that in covering up for their actions, they had become accomplices. Possibly not, Gregory was probably tired and certainly distressed, but he was smart and Damien knew he would before long. It'd be amusing to see the look on his face when he did.

"Doesn't matter," he said. "As long as there's a story he can't disprove, it'll all be fine. I can deal with everything else."

He could see Gregory trying to make some sense of this and abruptly decide it wasn't important. "Fine, a story," said Gregory wearily, slipping back under the covers and pulling the sheets up to his neck. "Whatever. What about everyone else?"

"They don't matter. They'll know we've been fighting and they'll talk, but they won't think anything else of it." Damien smirked. "I'll tell them you were untouchable."

Gregory didn't sit up, but he looked at Damien with pure venom. "You won't say anything."

Damien shrugged. "We tell Neff there was an intruder and we both struggled with him. He ran. That'll be between us and Neff. The others, they'll decide we scrapped. It hardly matters, but if it makes you happy, we'll let them think you beat me."

"I practically had," muttered Gregory, seeming to want the whole conversation over with.

Damien decided to let the comment slide, since he was telling the truth. "We avoid questions for a while, then boom! Here comes the apocalypse and no more worries. Deal?"

Gregory snorted.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Just..." Gregory sighed. "Just let me alone. Sure, the story'll never work but why not? Fine, whatever. I'll go along with it, but right now, just _fuck off_ and let me pretend this whole night never happened."

Damien scowled. He wasn't used to being dismissed. He looked over the little of Gregory's form the blonde was allowing him to see, his injured face and the bruised, scabbed knuckles of the hand that loosely clutched the sheets. There were some serious _stay away _vibes coming from there.

Instead, he waited until Gregory had taken his attention away, more interested in faking disinterest than in what Damien might do, then crossed the room silently, caught the sheets and tore them away. Gregory immediately sat up without the use of his arms; Damien had time to think that he mustn't have done as good a job on Gregory's midsection as Gregory had on his, before he caught the others wrists as they came to shove him away. Without releasing his hold, Damien sat beside Gregory, his eyes obviously trailing the blondes naked body. The blood was gone thanks to the shower, but the scratches, bruises and bites remained, evidence not so easily washed away.

And Gregory wasn't even trying to struggle or overpower him, when he could have done both easily. Interesting.

"If you want to forget the _whole_ night happened," purred Damien, his eyes catching Gregory's and holding the stare. "Then it won't matter what happens between now and sunrise."

"Get lost Damien." Gregory's voice held distaste and the barely-audible undertone of pleading. "I'm not in the mood for any more of your shit."

Damien broke eye contact, lowering his gaze to Gregory's cock and grinning. "That says different."

He released one of Gregory's wrists and slid his hand over the blondes thigh, finding his balls and gripping them lightly. Gregory moaned, his free hand pressing against Damien's chest, applying pressure, but not actively pushing him away.

Damien sought Gregory's eyes again. "This might be the last chance either of us have before..." He hid his own uncertainty and his lack of ending by running his thumb firmly up the underside of Gregory's shaft, both gratified and mildly disturbed by the way his own desire rose in his stomach. He shouldn't be doing this. There was no need for any of it, no need at all.

Only want.

"Don't touch me..." Gregory's voice wavered, finally pushing back against Damien's chest but without conviction. He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself and Damien was reminded of his own thoughtless comment, about how when it came to him, what Gregory said he wanted and what he showed he wanted were two entirely different things.

Damien finally released Gregory's wrist, resting both hands on Gregory's thighs and lowering his head. And Gregory stopped fighting him, sinking back into the mattress, his hands in Damien's hair and giving in without words.

-:-:-:-:-

Damien went from asleep to awake in the blink of an eye, opening his eyes and looking at the ceiling. He had no idea what time it was, but the light suggested it was almost time he woke up. Only the way the morning shadows played on the wall were subtly different than they were most mornings.

Because, he remembered, he wasn't in his own bed.

He turned his head sideways, unsurprised to see Gregory lying beside him. The beds were singles, narrow enough with one person in and the two boys were precariously entwined so as not to fall out. He smirked a little, all the times he had called Gregory cold and he'd been completely wrong. When the blonde got fired up, he was all heat. Damien could feel the warmth of his body and wished vaguely he could stay as he was. He was comfortable, in spite of the confined space.

He shifted slightly and Gregory stirred, muttering in his sleep. _Kissed_ perhaps, or _cursed, _or_ cross_. Gregory didn't look like his sleep was relaxing, his jaw clenched and brow furrowed. Damien decided that sleeping beside the Antichrist probably didn't make for pleasant dreams.

Disentangling himself, Damien left the bed and headed for the bathroom. Gregory might have showered the previous night but Damien hadn't bothered, as a result, he was streaked with dried blood and... other bodily fluids, he thought with a slight smirk. He switched the shower on and climbed in, wincing as the hot water stung his wounds, taking stock. He ached like a bitch. His muscles were stiff, his neck felt like there was a rock in it. His abdomen was painful and tender where Gregory had punched him. The skin at his neck was sore, his nose felt as if it were three times its normal size and breathing was uncomfortable.

And his mind was a mess.

He could tell himself that he had initially kissed Gregory to throw him off his stride, end the fight. It wasn't true. He'd kissed him because he wanted to – because somewhere among the punches and pain, he'd wanted _Gregory_. And Damien always did what he wanted, and he always got what he wanted.

He just didn't know why he wanted it. If it was because he'd been unable to subjugate the blonde in any other way – not that even sex had worked on that count – or if it had just been exciting while their bodies were pressed together, or if he had been attracted to the boy because he wasn't as easily defeated as the other people he'd met.

And he didn't know why Gregory had let him, why he had gone along with it willingly. Even though he had looked like he hadn't believed he was doing it, even though he had clearly hated himself afterward, he had gone along with it. More, he'd given in to Damien's later seduction without putting up a fight.

Maybe they were just so obsessed with each others motives that neither of them could see straight anymore.

Shit, and it had been good too, impassioned and frenzied and intense. Far more satisfying than any more normal encounter, perhaps because of the strong emotions they had, even if that emotion was hatred. Hatred on Gregory's side at least; until the night before, Damien had regarded Gregory with suspicion and unease and dislike, but no real hate. At least, he thought that was how it had been, before. It was hard to remember now things were so different.

He finished up his shower and went back into their room. Gregory was still asleep, having moved to steal the warmth Damien had left behind. Damien watched him for a moment, no expression on his face. He had to remember to look in the mirror before he went to breakfast; if he looked as beaten as Greg did, he wanted to know about it.

Damien padded around the room naked, figuring Gregory could hardly bitch about it anymore, digging his boxers from his drawer and putting them on, discovering a new pair of trousers – the ones he'd worn the previous day had been almost dragged from his body, still kicked aside on the floor, bloodied. Before he could do much more than retrieve them, there was a loud knock on the door and without waiting for a response, it opened and Neff walked in.

From the corner of his eye, Damien noticed Gregory go to sit up, fully awake, and then recall the state he was in and not do. Damien had no such hiding option, his body and his wounds were apparent in as little as he was wearing and with nowhere to hide. Not that he would have done. Neff had been hovering around for days, being anxious, not wanting to leave Damien alone. It was time he got a reminder of just what his place in the pecking order was.

"Damien?" Neff's voice was disbelieving and he closed the door behind him, turning his attention to the bed. "Greg? You want to tell me what the Hell you did?"

Gregory opened his mouth to make some comment, although what it would be he didn't know. Escaping to sleep had seemed a good idea, but being awoken so suddenly and the unwelcome memories crashing into his mind were conspiring against rational explanations.

"He didn't do anything," said Damien, much to the surprise of both Gregory and Neff. "We startled an intruder, he must have got in through the window, I left it open. He managed to get away. We hurt ourselves trying to stop him."

"You can't expect anyone to _believe..._"

"Neff." Damien walked over to the man, arms at his sides but his fists lightly clenched. "I told you what happened."

"I am your teacher –"

"Servant," corrected Damien icily. Gregory gave an involuntary shudder, goosebumps breaking out over his body, suddenly unconcerned with hiding the worst of his injuries. Damien's voice had been cold and somehow inhuman, a voice he couldn't imagine coming from a human larynx. Neff seemed to sense it too, the man swallowed loudly, taking a step backward.

"Make it fly Neff," said Damien in the same tone. "There's a good boy."

Nodding as if his head were on a spring, Neff almost fled through the door.

Damien turned to look over at Gregory, an amused smirk on his face and Gregory got his first good look at Damien in the cold light of the morning after. A part of his was viciously gratified to see that Damien still bore the bruises of their fight, less pleased to see he still bore marks from their other activities. Mostly, he was struck by how Damien seemed completely casual, as if he could use _that_ tone of voice and still behave as if everything was normal seconds later.

Gregory felt cold. Considering what Damien was, maybe he could. And now Gregory had allowed himself to do more than become embroiled in some secret struggle between them – he'd fucked Damien, allowed Damien power over him, bound them deeper in a conspiracy that he didn't want to be a part of.

And he still had to go to fucking class.

He deliberately broke eye contact with Damien, getting out of bed unmindful of his own nakedness – it seemed stupid to worry about it now – and was mildly distracted by the bleep of his phone. Sometime in the night, he'd received a message, but the unobtrusive sound hadn't disturbed him. Huh, anyone would have thought he'd been otherwise occupied.

He picked up the device, heading for the bathroom and locking the door before he glanced down at the phone, going suddenly pale as he saw the display: _1 new message, ._

Christophe.

Gregory swallowed hard, leaning back against the sink, suddenly awash with guilt. He hadn't even considered Christophe the night before. The man he suspected he'd fallen in love with hadn't crossed his mind once. He checked the time of the message; by his calculations, it had arrived at about the same moment he and Damien were getting off for the second time.

Gregory squeezed his eyes closed. He had nothing to feel guilty about, he reminded himself, at least as far as Christophe was concerned. They weren't in a relationship. They weren't even casual. They were just... friends. He couldn't even be sure of what his feelings toward the Frenchman were anymore.

So... that left screwing the Antichrist, completely failing the human race and _not_ stopping the apocalypse to feel guilty about.

He considered not opening the message but in the end, curiosity and habit won out and he pressed the button to show the words. _How was the theology test?_

Gregory let out a short, barking laugh, covering his mouth quickly before Damien could hear. He'd expected something more normal, like _is three Uzis too much firepower?_ Instead, he'd gotten concern about his life. Christophe attempting to show he was thinking of Gregory. His timing was shitty.

He considered not answering and dismissed the thought, it was hardly polite and he didn't want Christophe to think he didn't care – because that was a long way from the truth. He wished more than anything he'd acted on his attraction while they were in Amsterdam instead of skirting the issue, waiting for the right time, confident that there was room for their relationship to evolve without pushing it. Now time had run out and he would probably never see Christophe again... and even if they weren't involved, what had happened with Damien felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

He typed out an honest reply and sent it before he could change his mind: _I failed_.

Putting the phone aside, Gregory got into the shower and twisted it on viciously, not bothering to adjust the temperature from the stupidly hot setting Damien left it on, even though it was scalding his skin. He grabbed the shower gel, washed away all traces of the previous night, then kept right on scrubbing at his body.

He felt like he might never be clean again.


	11. Don't Struggle

**Author Note: **As always, my thanks to the reviewers! Four of Spades, Aiconx, The Brat Prince, let's point out the obvious, , KiwiHolocaust, J.E. McCormickGal, Bethany C. MacKenzie, Mewtow, koneko-chaan and mangamoo1! You guys are the greatest and I get the warm fuzzies every time I see a new message in my inbox.

And extra thanks to Aiconx, who took some cosplay pictures of herself and dA member dFlisendorf based on a short story I wrote! Talk about excited when I got it, lol. You can read said story in my one-shots collection and there's a link to the picture in my profile. Go see!

I apologise for the amount of time this chapter took to get out – I'm having real time issues at the moment. The next chapter should take less time to get out there and incidentally, after this chapter there are only four more to go. Two of which are written, although not in order. I really need to start writing in a straight line, lol.

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_Don't struggle like that or I will only love you more..._

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Breakfast in the Yardale dining hall was usually a relatively loud affair, with boys talking animatedly in groups, calling across the room to each other, the scraping of chairs and banging of plates or cutlery serving as a constant backdrop. It wasn't a very large school, but the volume level over meals suggested there were three times as many students as there really were. The teachers tended to let it be, saving admonishments of silence for the classroom. It took a lot to silence a couple of hundred teenage boys at the same time.

Damien Thorn managed it just by walking into the room.

One kid near the door looked up, gaped, nudged his neighbour. The second boy was about to respond impatiently, saw where his friend's eyes were and followed the gaze. He hissed to those opposite to take a look, the next table picked up on the excitement and starting looking around, meals forgotten as they saw the state Damien was in. In less than a minute, the whole school knew that someone had beaten the hell out of Damien Thorn and considering who his roommate was and the tension between them, anyone with personal knowledge of the boy had a damn good idea who caused it.

Damien acted as if he didn't notice the awed looks and wide-eyes stares, dropped jaws revealing half-chewed breakfasts. He merely walked over to the counter, took toast and coffee, then sought out his friends and sat with them. The talk in the room was growing louder, but there was only one subject on everyone's lips. Damien took his seat, looking as arrogant as ever, as if there was nothing wrong with him. But even his friends were taken aback; Sam, Danny and Cain stared at him through startled eyes. Damien said nothing, merely started ripping up his toast and putting the pieces back on the plate.

It was Sam who dared to break the silence. "Damien, did Greg..."

"Samael." Damien's voice was low but carried an almost physical weight, shutting the other boy up like a slap to the face. "Twenty four hours and this is incidental."

Cain pressed his lips together before speaking. "Does he suspect?"

"It doesn't matter." Damien picked up a shred of the toast and put it to his lips. "None of this will matter after tomorrow." He smirked. "Tomorrow's my birthday."

The four of them lapsed into the silence that Damien was so clearly inviting, Sam, Danny and Cain passing worried glances between themselves when they thought Damien wasn't looking. The way Damien looked, his black eye, swollen nose, the bruise decorating his cheek, the marks on his hands... they were all cause for concern.

It was almost ten minutes later when the buzz of the room quieted once again and Damien, who had been sneaking looks at the door when he thought he wouldn't be seen, glanced over there again. Gregory had still been in the shower when he left the room, but he must have dressed and readied himself in record time, because he was walking into the room. Damien wanted to smirk but couldn't quite manage it. Probably, he wanted to turn up for breakfast because he didn't want to lose face. In spite of everything, Gregory was still concerned about keeping up appearances.

Not that his appearance that day could be described as good - although the sight of the boy's face, as mangled as his own, gave him a slight thrill, considering what they had been doing scant minutes after inflicting the damage. Gregory's one good eye glittered dangerously, his lower lip was split and scabbed and there was a deep gash above his eyebrow. He could probably have benefitted from a stitch in it, too late now though. He'd have to live with the scar now, think about Damien every time he looked in the mirror. That suited Damien just fine. His hand throbbed and he tore his eyes from his adversary a moment. The first three fingers on his right hand bore evidence of teeth marks; he had put those fingers into Gregory's mouth sometime after they got naked and ordered the blonde to suck them. And he had done... but he had bit down as he did so, it felt like he'd gone almost to the bone. Damien might be the Antichrist, but it was Gregory who liked to bite.

Gregory deliberately ignored the attention, although Damien could see he was well aware of it, going over to the counter for tea. He had nothing to eat; Damien wondered if it was because of the damage on his mouth. And the whole time, the blonde had that slightly smug look on his face. Anyone seeing that expression after Damien's former impassiveness would assume that not only had they both fought, but that Gregory had come out the victor. Damien didn't care. Let him have this illusion of superiority, the two of them knew what the real truth was.

The real truth behind Gregory's lack of breakfast though was nothing to do with his lips and everything to do with appearances. His stomach was churning uneasily and he was worried that if he chose to put anything more substantial than tea into his body, he would simply throw it all back up without warning. And that wasn't the act of someone feeling nothing but self-confidence.

Damien had finally gotten to him. Just when Gregory thought he'd be able to seize control, it had turned out just like Yates had said. Damien was in his mind, in his soul. Everywhere. Damien had taken his body, taken any shot he had at redemption in the afterlife and Gregory had let him. He didn't know right from wrong anymore, up from down. His entire life, everything he'd ever known, had all been turned on its head.

But unlike Yates, he didn't idolise the Antichrist and wouldn't give up his whole being to be near the boy. On the contrary, he would have given anything to get away from him; he loathed Damien so much that being near him was like maggots burrowing beneath his skin. But there was no getting away from Damien, then or ever. And his hate was so strong that he had no room to think of anything else.

He sat with Ethan and a couple of other kids he knew casually. All of them started immediately asking questions, not quite so schooled in when speech was unwise as Damien's associates were. Gregory wanted to tell them all to shut up, fuck off, give him peace. He wanted to fall apart. But there was no way he could give Damien that satisfaction, or make the people around him think he was weak. He saw appearing weak with a kind of creeping horror, there was very little he was more afraid of.

Instead of having a meltdown, he gave the people at his table an enigmatic smile. "Let's just say..." He looked over his shoulder in Damien's direction and then back at the group. "Damien finally learned a few things about pushing me too far last night." This accompanied by a raised eyebrow, every gesture calculated to make him appear triumphant. He had never felt further from triumph in his life, but if this was to be the last day he spent before the apocalypse came, then he wasn't going to spend it hiding his face in shame.

He sipped his drink, willing it to settle his stomach, outwardly listening to the talk of his companions. Inwardly though, he was planning. There had to be something – anything – he could do. Talk to a priest? Splash some of that holy water that Damien had mocked? There was a thought. Damien had already said that he disliked the crucifix and had used the same voice to talk about sacramental water as he had the daggers, dismissing it deliberately so _Gregory _would dismiss it. But what if there was some truth in the old superstitions?

Of course, Gregory thought bitterly, he'd have to wear gloves. Just in case his contact with Damien had rendered him just as outcast from God's sight as the Antichrist himself.

He thought it over as he made superficial conversation, a marked difference to the silence at Damien's table. He had class, that was the thing. He could probably skip out, getting detention was the least of his worries at that point – but it would look like he was avoiding Damien. He allowed himself a smirk. He was still so concerned with how things between him and Damien looked to people on the outside and if he failed to do something to dispose of Damien then his reputation or good name would be worth shit. Why worry about it?

But he _was _worried, he didn't want to arouse Damien's suspicions either and Damien knew that he didn't miss class, not for any reason. So, after classes would be best. If he was done by three, then he could go into the town and to the local church there, pick up some holy water and perhaps a crucifix. He snorted quietly, ignoring the odd looks the boys at his table gave him. Shit, religious voodoo. He was getting desperate.

The rest of the day, he could use his phone or laptop to do in-depth searches on anything, _anything_, that might be used to kill the Antichrist. Superstition, fictional plot device, any religion under the sun, it hardly mattered. He needed something and he was willing to take what he could get.

And if forces were moving to aid Damien's ascension, then wasn't it possible that opposing forces would want him stopped and be willing to give a guy a little bit of help?

Apparently not. Gregory couldn't use his phone to search the net in most of his classes with Damien sat in the seat beside him (and they drew a lot of openly curious stares from both students and teachers, considering the mess they both were). Between classes, he worked furiously, trusting his memory to tell him which sites he had already been on during his previous meticulous searches. His attempts bore no fruit. There was plenty about the daggers, a couple of things used in stories that included incantations to send demons back to Hell and mystical ceremonies. Gregory found them largely useless. No one had any real idea how to stop the Antichrist and why not? He had never been in a position to need stopping before.

Which left him with the religious shit that he couldn't bring himself to believe would work. After that, he was officially without a clue and would simply have to swim blind and hope for the best, that some option would present itself to him between the time hope was gone and the apocalypse. In other words, pure chance. Gregory did not like putting his faith in luck, he usually made his own. But ever since Damien had walked into his life, he had been unlucky.

The moment lessons were over, he went out of the school and toward the town, unmindful of the long walk and the unseasonably cool weather; it looked almost like there was a storm on the way. Gregory could relate. He chain-smoked all the way, the way things were going, he had about as much to fear from lung cancer as he did from detention. There was actually a private church on Yardale's grounds; when it had been built, times had been very different and the thought of multi-faith upper-classes hadn't really caught on in America. As a result the school still boasted a chapel, opened only for Sunday services when a vicar from the local town would arrive after services there and conduct something small and pleasing to most Christians. Today the chapel would be locked, but Gregory had never had much problem with locks. However, he wasn't sure though that breaking and entering a house of God was going to get him many extra points in the 'good' column. In the town there were several churches but Gregory thought that to use faith as a weapon it should be wielded with conviction, like he would use a gun or a knife. He didn't know if he could do it.

He didn't have much when it came to religion, but he was led to what he knew; his parents were occasional Catholics and his paternal grandmother a lot more fervent about her faith. Gregory attended church rarely; officially he was a Catholic too but in honesty, he wasn't wholly convinced that God was. But he relied upon what was familiar; it was the Catholic Church he was led to.

The church was open, but there was only one person around, leaving as Gregory entered and shooting a pained look at Gregory's face. Gregory ignored him, walking into the coolness of the church. It was an old building, although with nothing like the age of the churches Gregory had attended back home in England, he suddenly wished that he was entering some structure that dated back several hundred years. It would give the situation more gravity than this, some impression of getting help from an old testament God of wrath and vengeance.

A part of him had been convinced that he would touch the doors and be burned or similar, but they remained solid wood beneath his fingers and he was able to walk inside without hearing some booming voice from the heavens screaming that he was unclean and unfit to enter. He walked down the silent aisle and took a seat in the front pew, glancing up at the crucifix above the alter. A mocking voice in his head asked him why he had gone there at all, but the answer to that one was simple; if he was supposed to take on the forces of Satan, then this was supposed to be the place to go to for help, for strength. But he didn't feel strengthened. He didn't feel anything.

"Forgive me Father," he said under his breath, struggling to remember something, anything, from the services he had been to. The memories seemed to be hiding slyly from his conscious mind. And there was no priest there to hear his confession anyway, not that he was sure he'd trust a man to hear what was on his mind. "I have sinned."

_I have stolen,_ he thought to himself with humourless sarcasm. _I have judged and I have killed based on those judgements. I have taken the lords name in vain, I failed to keep the Sabbath holy, I didn't covet my neighbours wife but I did and still do covet my best friends ass and that's probably worse. I did unto others before they could do unto me. I lied, over and over again. I lay with a man as one is intended to lay with a woman... and worse, I lay with a demon the way you're not supposed to lay with a man. I suppose there's the reasons I'm not feeling the God in the room._

He sighed, looking down at the floor. What exactly had he expected to get from this? Help? Some feeling of spiritual righteousness, a sign that he was doing the right thing? An angel to appear and say, _all is forgiven, go forth and sin no more, we'll let you off the whole 'sex with the Antichrist' thing this time but don't do it again_?

The truth was, he had expected _something_. He would have settled for just about anything – but there was nothing. The only change in the way he felt was the additional mild, weary disappointment and maybe the sinking sensation that Damien hadn't lied; God was watching, He just didn't care that much. He'd been hoping for a sign, he supposed, that he'd be able to succeed, that things would turn out okay... that he wasn't alone in this.

Something to quell the fear he felt, that he'd been living with for weeks, that there was something that could be done and he hadn't been mislead.

But if God was there, he had turned his face away and Gregory was on his own. There was no absence of faith, no sudden knowledge that he had fallen from favour – there was just no change.

Gregory frowned, setting his resolve. It didn't matter what had or hadn't happened in the chapel. What mattered was that he knew without a doubt that tomorrow marked the beginning of the end and he knew of only one way to stop it. And he would have to make a stand, even if it was alone. And if he died, then he died – but he wasn't spending any more time hiding. It was claimed that God helped those that helped themselves and even if that turned out to be untrue, Gregory didn't know how to remain passive. He had to fight.

A door creaked and he glanced up, looking over as a priest emerged from the vestry. He looked over at Gregory, seeming startled to see the young man sitting there alone – although Gregory supposed that might have something to do with his face, he looked like he'd been through a mangler. Damien hadn't been shy about working the head shots. The man headed over to him, dressed in black trousers and shirt, the flash of white at his neck giving away his identity.

"Hello there, son," he said kindly. "You seem troubled. Is there something you'd like to talk about?" He chuckled, probably at the look on Gregory's face at the suggestion – Gregory didn't discuss things easily, even with the people he knew. Discussing his problems with a stranger would be even more intolerable. "Son, whatever you say here I can't share with anyone, I'm bound by my vows. No matter what the issue is." His gaze moved over Gregory's face. "And it looks like you've had some issues."

Gregory hesitated, then decided he might as well talk to the man. He needed information after all and a priest might be able to shed some light on how best to handle Damien. "Father. This is going to sound a little strange, but I've got my reasons for asking. Do you believe in the Antichrist?"

The priest looked back at him, still smiling but with a new wariness in his eyes. "Of course I do. The bible tells us that the saviour's opposite number exists and therefore he must."

"I mean, do you believe in him as a real person? That he walks around among us?"

"A lot like the saviour himself did you mean?" The priest nodded. "Yes, I do believe that. Times are dark and his coming is near. I know in my heart that he will soon devastate the world... although I fail to see why a young man like you would be interested in this."

Gregory ignored the last part. "So, how does one stop him?"

"You can't stop him." The priest gave an almost apologetic smile, shrugged his shoulders. "No one can. It was foretold in the bible that Damien's reign would last thousands of years and that must come to pass. No man can stand against him and certainly not a spoiled child like you."

Gregory stared back at him, unpleasant realisation dawning. "I didn't mention Damien."

"Coming here, dressed in the uniform from the fancy school you both attend, asking how to stop the Antichrist?" The man's smile remained benevolent and to Gregory, that was the worst part of all. How damn _smug_ and _certain_ he was. "I know you're asking about him. I know that you know about him and anyway..." The smile became subtly mocking. "You've got his stink all over you."

Gregory might have been surprised, under other circumstances, at how outraged he was. "You're a _priest_!"

The priest nodded. "I certainly am, a good one if I say so myself. But I belonged to Damien since before either of you were born and it's no coincidence that I was appointed here. But I've told you the absolute truth, there's nothing you can do to stop him. Better to just run along back to school and make peace with your God."

"You bastard," Gregory almost whispered. "At least Damien doesn't pretend to be anything other than evil. You're hiding behind the Church and working against them – you're worse than he is."

"No one is worse than he is," replied the priest, smile gone. "As you're about to find out. There's no help for you here child. Leave."

Gregory rose, fists clenched, dying to punch the man right in the face – but the last place he needed to be right then was a jail cell and if he was expelled, he would never get close enough to Damien again to do anything to stop him. Although what the hell might stop him was anyone's guess. Gregory doubted very much that anything he managed to take from this church would be of any use against Damien, any holy relic was probably corrupted by some blasphemy – and that of course was the reason for the man being appointed here at all. So that there was nothing that could be used against Damien within easy reach.

He was fucked.

He walked from the church without another word, knowing he could try another – but what would be the point? If such precautions were already in place then it was doubtful he'd be able to seek help in any house of God.

Gregory closed his eyes briefly, the urge to simply run away from it all rising up in him. But that was cowardly and he had never run from anything in his life, he wasn't about to start now, no matter what his instincts were telling him. And maybe there would be some opportunity there, maybe God hadn't completely forsaken him... but he thought that this was the end. There was nothing more that could be done and he was returning to Yardale, empty-handed, to die.

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Damien was finally alone in his room, no Greg to disturb him – the boy had been avoiding him all day, not that he could say that he was surprised. Sam, Danny and Cain had been horribly clingy though, up until Damien had told them in no uncertain terms that they were to leave him alone for the rest of the night. He didn't need their particular brand of companionship.

Although it might be nice to have someone to talk to or confide in. Greg's face flitted through his mind and he almost snorted. Unlikely. Not only would he rather chop off his scrotum than tell Greg any of his issues, but the guy couldn't help. Everything was so black and white to him; make your choice, stand your ground, fight to the bitter end. Damien had never seen the world in such clear, unshakable terms and he thought Gregory incredibly naive for doing so. The world just didn't work like that, and Damien should know.

He leaned his forehead against the window, looking out beyond rather than at his own battered reflection, remembering standing right here not so long ago and watching a boy running across the field – running from him and what he could do. But no one ever escaped Damien for long.

"Father," he murmured, before he was even aware the word was in his mind, let alone on his lips. "I don't wanna do this."

There was no revelation, no blinding pillar of fire with a demon within, telling him _tough titty kid_. His father was not God, and he did not answer the prayers of anyone. Least of all his own son.

The glass was cool against his skin and he closed his eyes. "I don't want this, I've never wanted it. Not really. The power, yeah, but the destruction, the whole world collapsing and burning and the screams... no. I don't want it. You can strike me down if you want, I don't care. I won't do it and you can't make me."

There was no reply, nothing but the sounds of the school going on outside the room. No change in how he felt either. The only acknowledgement of the words came from his own head, in his own voice; mocking and deeply cruel. _What makes you think you have a choice? You can be made to do this, you know you can and what you want is irrelevant. It's all about who you are and your choices, your wants, mean nothing._

What else had he expected? This was his destiny, what he had been born to do and it wasn't as if he could run from it. Destiny would only find him again. What he wanted was the least important part of the whole issue – but he was afraid. And he didn't know what would happen to him while the apocalypse rained down. That he would live was given, what he might become was not.

"Why hast thou forsaken me?" The words were supposed to come out tough and sarcastic, but they sounded almost timid, rather frightened. He'd never heard that weakness in his voice before and he didn't much like it.

Fuck it. This was ridiculous. This was not Gethsemane and he was not the Christ. He was the opposite, quite literally and if Death was his destiny, then he'd do a damn good job of it.

Opening his eyes, he saw a student standing beneath the window. It was a long way down, but he could recognise that build and that blonde hair anywhere; Gregory. Damien stared down at the other, not worried that he might have seen the moment of weakness. He was wondering what he might do to Gregory, once he had been transformed by the coming destruction.

He wondered if he would kill him. Or something worse.


	12. Kill You For Myself

**Author Note: **huge thanks to let's point out the obvious, KiwiHolocaust, Aiconx, Mewtow, Mangomoo1 and D for the lovely reviews! I can only apologise for the length of time it's taking me to get new chapters out there, the term 'snowed under' doesn't even begin to describe what I am right now. Hope you enjoy!

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_I would kill myself for you... I would kill you for myself._

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Gregory lay awake.

Across the room, Damien muttered uneasily in his sleep, words unintelligible. Gregory cast his eyes over there, seeing nothing more than his dark shape under the covers. If he had any sense at all, he wouldn't have come back to this room at all... but the sad truth was there was nowhere else to go. He could run, he could abandon this whole insane situation – and then what? In a few hours, Damien would have fulfilled the prophecy and there would be nowhere in the world to hide.

He could have spent the night somewhere else, but again, what was the point? Damien could find him if that was what he wanted. He might as well stay right there and try to think of something he could do.

His mind was blank.

When he tried to focus on planning, all he could think of was the fight, the way they had been trying to kill each other with their bare hands and then suddenly, Damien's mouth was on his and instead of fighting it, Gregory had practically torn the others clothes off and offered himself.

Why had he done that? Why was it that Damien made him so furious he couldn't see straight and he just made the situation worse?

Gregory wanted to tell himself that it was some dark, demonic power that Damien had thrown over his mind, clouding his judgement. But Gregory had never been very good at lying to himself. He just hated Damien _so much_, the kind of overpowering emotion he never felt in such depth about anyone or anything else – and then when the situation turned sexual, he'd thrown all that hate into horniness instead.

And it just made him angrier, because he didn't love Damien. He didn't even _like_ Damien. But only Damien could make him feel like this.

A part of his mind questioned where that left his situation with Christophe and he forced the thought away. Thinking of Christophe at the same time as thinking of Damien made him feel disgusted with himself, ashamed, sordid. Christophe had been the best part of his life and he'd fucked up any future they may have had before it even began. He couldn't think of Christophe, not now that he'd screwed up so badly. He could only drag Christophe down with him if he did.

The worst part was that he still wanted Damien. In spite of the hate, in spite of knowing what he was, in spite of the need to stop him, he still lusted for his touch.

It was sick. _He_ was sick. And he couldn't infect Christophe, or even his thoughts of Christophe, with that. His feelings for the other mercenary were strong, but they felt like some silly, unattainable dream, whereas Damien was the dark reality.

Damien said something else and Gregory turned his head again, slightly curious. Damien's body was rigid with tension, his discomfort clear even in the poor light of the room.

"…Damien?"

"No room for that in this world," snarled Damien in his sleep. Gregory went cold. The voice that had emerged from Damien's mouth had been his, but altered, without humour or warmth. He didn't think he'd ever heard a less human voice in his life.

"There's no pity, no mercy. There is only me..."

Gregory's first instinct was to bolt from the bed, leave the room, leave the school and_ run_ as far and as fast as he could, hide away from that voice. There was no reasoning from anything that spoke like that. No humanity to appeal to, because it had none itself.

_It's pity and mercy that make us human_ thought Gregory, forcing his fists to unclench. Maybe there was nothing he could do and maybe his soul was already damned... but he was holding fast to his humanity. Right now, it felt like all he had left.

Across the room, there was a flash of light and suddenly, the pile of books Damien had thrown carelessly onto the desk was blazing.

"Damien, _shit_!" Gregory snatched his pillow, jumping out of bed and running across the room, beating out the flames hurriedly. Damien didn't waken, merely chuckled in his sleep. It shouldn't have been possible, but the sound was utterly devoid of humour – and hope.

The fire dealt with, Gregory raced across to Damien's bed, grabbing the other boy by the shoulder, noticing how his skin was coated with a light sheen of sweat. Damien sat bolt upright, eyes opening and staring back at Gregory, crimson and pitiless and enraged. Gregory could feel the temperature of the air around him rising and wondered crazily if he was about to spontaneously combust, burst into flame, his reward for disturbing Damien's dreams...

Then the temperature dropped and it was just Damien, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable and confused.

Damien took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself. Whatever dreams he had were usually gone by the time he awoke, but this hadn't been a dream so much as a promise. A vision of the world as it would be in a few short hours. A world filled with fire, and the screams of the damned, like some mirror image of Hell. And himself walking through it, feeling no joy at his triumph, no pleasure in the pain of others – but no remorse either, no wistfulness for what he had destroyed, no passing thought to the suffering around him.

Empty. Victory had felt empty. As if he was gone and all that had been left was a shell that looked coincidentally like him, his name just one more thing to be cursed rather than the focus of his identity.

And the end was _now_. There were only hours remaining and there was no more time left to try to convince himself this was a game or a fantasy. It was real, all of it was going to happen and no one could stop it.

Almost no one.

There was still one more thing he could do to avert his destiny. It might not work – it probably wouldn't work. It depended on him hanging on to the last crumbling threads of his humanity for as long as it took to try.

He looked back at Gregory, his good eye reflecting concern, the other lost in the shadows thanks to the bruise Damien had left there. Confusion was human, fear and uncertainty were human. Emotion was human. Maybe it was being able to feel those things that had got him this far.

"It's my birthday," he said, his voice almost pleading.

Gregory raised an eyebrow, withdrawing his hand from Damien's shoulder. "Excuse me if I don't give my congratulations."

He made as if to leave and Damien grabbed his wrist before he could turn away. "Wait, I – I need you to do something for me."

"So help me God, if I hear the word 'blowjob'..."

Damien gaped for a moment, then broke out laughing. Something about the fatalistic, bitter humour in the words amused him and he found it hard to stop. Maybe it was a product of laughing at his fear, but all of a sudden, he felt as though things might go okay. Not great, not the happy ending for any of them – but it might go okay.

"I wouldn't say no, if you're offering," he said between snickers. "But there was something else I was gonna ask for."

Gregory narrowed his eyes, looking unamused. Damien supposed he had every reason to, when the Antichrist asked a rival for a favour, they were rarely small ones. "What?"

Damien stopped laughing, although his smile remained and amusement sparkled in his eyes. "I want you to kill me."

Gregory's eyes widened again and Damien laughed again at his stunned expression. _"What?"_

"I need you to kill me." Damien smirked. "Don't tell me you don't want to."

"I can't."

"If this is about your soul again..."

"No, I mean I _can't_. The daggers are gone, remember? And you can't be killed the usual way." Gregory frowned a little.

"Let me worry about that. I've got a plan. But – I can't pull it off alone."

"Why can't you just – I dunno..."

"Commit suicide?" Damien put on a rueful Schwarzenegger voice. "I cannot self-terminate."

"But..."

"Can't be killed by the usual means, you said so yourself. It has to be done a certain way. And I'm gonna need help to do it."

Gregory's face was filled with suspicion. "This is a trick."

Damien shrugged. "Nope. Though you probably don't believe me."

"No, I don't." Gregory pulled his hand away from Damien's and ran it through his hair. "It's – it's gotta be part of the ritual."

"Ritual?"

"Or whatever. You shedding a mortal form or something like that. You get killed and rise as the Antichrist."

Damien hesitated. "I didn't think of that," he admitted. "It could happen. I don't know. But really, this is the only play you've got. The only chance that might just avert Armageddon. If you don't try, you fail. If you _do_ and I just – come back, then you fail. But if it works..."

"If it works, no one's going to believe that you were going to end the world and I go to jail for the rest of my natural."

"True." Damien looked him in the eye. "But you were willing to take that risk _before_. What's changed?"

"Nothing, I suppose." Gregory sat on the edge of Damien's bed, still frowning thoughtfully.

"Though you'd probably go underground – you can do that, you're a mercenary. I wasn't wrong about that, was I?"

Gregory shook his head and Damien pressed on. "So you know someone who can help you hide out, right?"

"Sure," said Gregory in a brusque, snappish tone that clearly marked the subject off-limits.

"And you're not gonna freak out over a bit of blood. You'll do the job at hand without pussying out on me at the last moment." Damien leaned forward slightly. "If we're gonna stop the end of the world Greg, I need you. I can't do it alone and there isn't anyone else who'll help me. There isn't anyone else to trust."

Gregory shook his head, confusion and frustration written clearly on his face. "Why?" He stared at Damien, searching his face for any sign of malice or deceit. "Why do you want to stop any of it? Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

"I..." Damien sighed and drew his knees up, resting his head on them, looking back at Gregory. "I dunno. Sometimes it's what I want. I wouldn't mind ruling the world."

"That doesn't surprise me," said Gregory dryly.

Damien flipped him off and continued. "But y'know, no one ever asked me. Ever since the day I was created, it's been all, _it is your destiny to destroy mankind and usher in ten thousand years of darkness._ And I'd be sitting there thinking, _but I wa__nna be an astronaut!_"

Gregory's lips quirked into what looked almost like a smile and Damien grinned back. "But arguing with it didn't make any difference so I just let it go. After all, the whole thing was a long way in the future, right? Only all of a sudden, it wasn't a long way off, it was right around the corner. And I guess I have to make a choice. Go into the family business..." He gave a sardonic shrug. "Or put my foot down, take charge of my own life – my own destiny."

"Let me get this straight," said Gregory slowly. "You're planning to avert the apocalypse by causing your own death – in some act of emo teenage rebellion?"

"You could try and be a little more understanding," said Damien. "Y'know, make some speech about great, noble acts of self-sacrifice for the greater good. Make me out to be a bit of a hero."

"Why?" Gregory raised his eyebrows, but Damien didn't see anger in his expression. "All that would do is piss you off. Anyway, you're not doing it for the good of mankind. You're doing it because you're afraid to take responsibility for causing all that."

Damien grimaced. "Perhaps I am. Perhaps it's just another way for me to be selfish. Does it matter _why_, as long as I do it?"

"I suppose not," replied Gregory, giving Damien a solemn look. "Are you _sure_ this is the only way?"

"The only way I know."

Gregory let out a shaky breath. "Then I'll help you."

Damien was sure his rush of relief must be showing on his face, although he tried to hide it. "Good," he said, casting his eyes away from Gregory. He supposed he should thank the man, but it felt odd, unfamiliar enough without the weird subtext.

"You have some way we can do it?" Gregory's voice was verging on uncertainty. "Some plan?"

"I have a way. All you have to do is be there and do as I say."

Silence reigned between them for long moments, before Damien turned his head back to look at Gregory. "Y'know, if something goes wrong... you'll die."

"And if nothing goes wrong," replied Gregory defiantly "_You'll _die."

Damien nodded slightly, uncurling his knees and stretching out beneath the covers. "Either way, only one of us is coming out of this alive."

"Perhaps," said Gregory somberly. "Or perhaps neither of us will."

Damien looked at him questioningly.

"Once your death is discovered, do you think all your little followers, or the demons you were supposed to unleash... do you think they won't try for retribution?"

"I guess... I didn't really consider it."

"Why would you? You'll be well out of it by then."

"If you're having second thoughts..."

"No." Gregory's voice was quiet, but sure. "It's the only way. If you're not lying to me –"

"I'm not."

"It makes no difference if you are. It's the only thing left to do."

Damien gave a small laugh. "This time tomorrow, it's the end of the world for us, one way or the other."

"Scared?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Shitting bricks." Gregory's voice was grave, but there was a slight smile on his face. Damien recognised it for what it was, fatalistic good humour. Once death was inevitable, there were only two options; let the fear of it paralyse... or get over it and get on with it.

He reached a hand out and cupped the back of Gregory's head, leaning closer so he could brush their lips together. Gregory responded immediately, kissing him back without regard for their injured mouths, ignoring the pain he had to be feeling. Damien realised that Gregory hadn't lied to him, he really was terrified.

Damien was too.

He pulled the blonde closer, feeling Gregory's arms slide over his back, their bodies entwining as they lay across the bed. The hatred that had fuelled their earlier encounters was gone, Damien reached out to Gregory as if he were drowning and Gregory responded to him with a passion born of fear, both of them knowing this could be their last chance of any form of willing contact, ever again.

Their encounter was still primal, driven by the more primitive emotions of fear and uncertainty and the need to forget death, celebrate their lives, even for a short while. Damien savoured every sound, every touch, losing himself in the experience without concern for the consequences.

For a brief time, he was able to let go of his fear.

~:~

Gregory stared at the ceiling, watching the early morning light slowly steal the shadows through blank eyes. Beside him, Damien slept on, arm thrown carelessly over Gregory's waist, occasionally murmuring something unintelligible and uneasy. Gregory had known of Damien's restless sleep, growing worse the closer they got to his birthday, but it seemed that his presence had calmed him enough to remain asleep, if not dreamless.

But Gregory couldn't sleep, not when this might be the last sunrise he ever saw.

Black despair was gnawing at his stomach, threatening to overtake him. Today was the last chance, Damien's 18th birthday and he had no idea what he was going to do if their plan didn't work. If Damien couldn't be killed, Damien couldn't be stopped and Gregory had been a fool to think he stood any chance of averting it. All he had succeeded in doing was losing the daggers that could have prevented this from happening and then fallen into bed with the very person he was trying to destroy.

He wasn't sure why Damien had begun their tryst or why they had continued it. Maybe as some sick form of mind game, some attempt at control. Or maybe because they were the only two people who knew what was coming and were as scared as each other. Whatever the reason, he didn't think their relationship would save him. If anything, he was probably utterly damned because of it.

He shifted slightly, looking down at Damien's black hair and biting his lip. Of all the people he could have spent his last night alive with, the Antichrist wasn't his first choice. His first choice was thousands of miles away, presumably still asleep and not dreaming of him.

It didn't matter. He had only a few hours before whatever Damien had planned happened and if he lived through it, fine. If he stopped it, wonderful. But if he died – then there was only one voice he wanted to hear before it happened, and it wasn't Damien's.

Gregory eased his way out of the bed, taking care not to disturb Damien. He located his uniform and dressed swiftly, occasionally grimacing as he aggravated his wounds. He grabbed his phone, then looked over at Damien's sleeping form. No, he didn't trust that it was secure enough. He'd have to take a quick jaunt to a nearby payphone.

He crept from the room, strengthening his resolve. The first thing was to indulge himself, allow himself to have that small weakness that was saying goodbye to Christophe.

And then, either he or Damien would have to die.

~:~

Christophe was awoken by the sound of his phone ringing insistently. Blearily, he picked it up and checked the caller ID, not a number in his addresses but he recognised the area code – the same one that Yardale School had. Presumably it was Gregory calling, although why he was calling from a payphone rather than his mobile was beyond Christophe.

Yawning, he accepted the call. "Yeah?"

"Christophe, it's me."

"I guessed," replied Christophe with a slight smile – there was no one around to see him happy about the call, so that was okay. He knew his feelings toward the blonde were more than platonic, but no one else knew and most importantly, _Gregory_ didn't know, just the way he wanted it. He was content, for the moment, to enjoy their occasional times working together or their business calls. "Is zere a reason you're using ze public phone?"

"Safer this way," said Gregory promptly.

"Safer 'ow?" asked Christophe, immediately alert. "Is zere something wrong?"

"Not a thing," said Gregory and Christophe frowned. Gregory sounded strange, not like himself at all. Less businesslike, less confident. Almost anxious.

"So, why are you calling me at zis hour?"

"No reason," said Gregory vaguely, sending more alarm bells ringing. Gregory didn't call for no reason, ever. He called for business, he called to check on things, occasionally he called because he was bored and hoping there was something going on, but he never called just to shoot the shit.

"I just might not be able to call later," he added and gave the most humourless laugh that Christophe had ever heard.

Fully awake now, Christophe lit a cigarette, needing the nicotine. "Is everything okay down zere?"

"Yeah, fine," said Gregory with false cheer. "Except for everyone panicking about their exams. It's ridiculous. You'd think it was the end of the world." He laughed again, but if there was a joke in there, Christophe didn't get it.

It occurred to him that maybe Gregory had caved under the stress of said exams, then dismissed the thought out of hand. That Gregory would fail or even be concerned about failure wasn't likely, and he doubted it would bring about this weird reaction from him anyway.

"Is something 'appening?" he asked slowly. "You sound – off."

"Nothing's happening," retorted Gregory, too quickly to be anything but a lie. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Uh-huh, zat's all. Right. Maybe I should come down zere and see..."

"_No!"_

Christophe widened his eyes at the command. Gregory had been vehement, but there was something else in his voice, mild desperation. If Christophe didn't know better, he might have called it fear. But he'd never known Gregory to truly fear anything.

"Nothing's going on," said Gregory hurriedly, as if he realised he'd made a mistake. "I'm just studying too hard, you'd be bored if you visited. I just called to say good morning, take a break from school. Now that I have done, I'll let you get back to sleep. I have to go anyway, class starts soon."

"Beetch, don't you dare 'ang up on me!"

Gregory chuckled, the first time he'd sounded like himself the entire call. "I knew you'd be like that. Honestly, don't _worry_. I'm stressed out and it's showing in strange ways, that's all." He paused for a moment. "Goodbye, Christophe."

The phone went dead.

Deeply worried now, Christophe redialed the number Gregory had called from. It rang without anyone answering, in spite of Christophe's muttered threats. Finally ending the call, he rang Gregory's mobile number, not expecting much difference but hoping nonetheless.

"_I can't take your call at the moment, leave a message and I'll call you back."_

"You 'ad _better_ call me back," he growled at the machine before ending the call with a vicious stab at the button, grinding out his cigarette angrily. Hearing Gregory speak on the answerphone merely highlighted the difference between how he normally sounded and the way he had talked on their earlier call.

There was no way he could ignore his instincts on this one. Something was wrong and Gregory clearly didn't want him involved, although if he really didn't want Christophe to know, then why had he called at all...

_Goodbye Christophe._

"Sheet." Christophe leapt to his feet and bolted for his laptop. "Sheet, sheet, _sheet_."

He had the Denver airport webpage up in seconds, checking out flight times. He was going to Yardale, no matter what Gregory had said. He snarled as he worked out his route; the fastest way he would get there would still take until the early hours of the morning and he had a very bad feeling that it wasn't going to be soon enough.

It was the best he could do though, and he booked the flight before snatching his bag and grabbing a few things, hoping that whatever Gregory believed was going to happen would wait until he was by his side.


End file.
